


Downfall and Redemption

by MalkyTop



Category: Xiaolin Showdown (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-06 21:17:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4236921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalkyTop/pseuds/MalkyTop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the events of the show, dark forces have destroyed the Xiaolin temple, leaving Omi and Dojo as the only survivors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Downfall

Omi knew a lot about silence; he had internalized it long ago. The silence of an old temple settling down on its ancient foundations. The silence of an idyllic life, secluded from the worries of the modern world. The silence of hard work. The silence of training. The silence of meditation. The silence of nature. Omi thought that he knew silence inside and out, thought that silence was nothing if not a familiar friend.

And then he met dead silence.

It was heavier than the roof that was currently on top of him, and he could feel the presence of absolutely nothing even as he broke it by pushing off the support beam pinning his legs. Even when he filled the air with the names of his adopted family, the dead silence remained because there was nothing that could fill nothing.

The pile of rubble that compressed the air around him was too heavy to throw off, and so Omi crawled through cracks and crevices until he made it to fresh, dead air. Only then did he take the clunky scroll out of his robes. He had tucked it away when the roof caved in, and in return it had cut into his skin when he fell. Still, he clutched it close to his tender chest. It was the last thing he had been told to do. Keep it close. Keep it safe.

The dead silence was heavier now that he was out in the open, now that he was confronted with the sight of his unrecognizable home. Everything had simply been broken down to their component parts and strewn about. Logically, it was still the same temple. But Omi couldn't shake the feeling that he had wandered into some other place, because these  _couldn't_  be the halls he had run about ever since he was little. This  _couldn't_  be the training grounds he had spent most of his life in. It simply couldn't be.

Omi limped around unfamiliar paths created by fallen buildings and various detritus. He skirted around the rubble, his eyes trying to slide over the dry pools of blood that were sometimes accompanied by prone bodies of old men he both recognized and didn't.

"Dojo?" he ventured again, his pace quickening even as his legs buckled. " _Shīfu_ Fung?" The dead silence devoured his words. Nothing would never allow something to exist within it. And so, Omi would have found nothing at all, if he hadn't noticed someone bright green in the middle of the drab ruins.

At first, Omi thought that Dojo was unconscious – but no, the dragon was shuddering. Weeping, he realized as he got closer, weeping soundlessly on a lone arm sticking out from under yet another indistinguishable pile of rubble. The sleeve of the robe was unmistakable. Only one person in the temple ever wore that color. Omi dropped the scroll.

Dojo stiffened, but wiped his face before turning around. "｢Omi! Thank goodness you're okay.｣" The dragon managed a grin but all of this was merely a vague collection of molecules compared to what was behind him. Without quite meaning to, Omi pushed him aside and fell upon the rubble on top of Master Fung. His arms screamed as he pulled at the slabs of drywall and rock, but he pretended that the dead silence swallowed that up as well, until Dojo grabbed at his dusty sleeve.

"｢No,｣" he said, his eyes staring down. "｢Omi, he's…gone.｣"

It did not take much to pull his sleeve out of Dojo's grasp. Omi didn't even need to glance at him. "｢But I must – I cannot just…｣"

Dojo's second grip was stronger this time around, and finally Omi had to look down into Dojo's eyes. This small instance of human (relatively speaking) contact was enough to remove the supports in his legs and crack the dams in his eyes.

"｢I'm sorry…you shouldn't have to…｣" Dojo gazed back towards the still arm and heaved a sigh. "｢Leave this to me, okay? Pick up the scroll. Grab whatever you want to take.｣"

At this, Omi blinked, dislodging his brimming tears. "｢We are leaving? But…where are we going?｣"

"｢Away from here,｣" Dojo replied, gesturing a stick-thin arm around at their surroundings before setting his claws on top of a large rock that had twisted Master Fung's arm in an unnatural manner.

Omi managed to stand once more and tottered vaguely in the direction of the scroll. "｢…What will you do?｣"

"｢Just listen to me, okay?｣" he pleaded.

Omi looked down at Dojo, who framed the arm of Master Fung. He turned and gazed over his unrecognizable home, the home that turned on its own inhabitants. The inhabitants who taught him, fed him, trained him, protected him. Died for him.

They had told him to run away and he had obeyed. He should have known better. They were old. He was the Chosen One. He had known this ever since he was three, and yet he left his teachers, his family, his  _home_  to this fate. He should have known better. He should have fought. If he had, then maybe he could have avoided this future of dead silence and unmarked graves. If he had, then maybe…

Maybe…

Dojo took Omi's silence as reluctance. "｢Look…I can do this on my own. I don't want you to see this. Please…｣"

Omi turned his head downwards, his brow furrowed but his eyes blank.

"｢I wish to help,｣" he lied.

 


	2. Different Ways of Coping

Omi had never been as far north as the Henan province, at least as far as he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to be intrigued by the varying landscape below him. His eyes stayed firmly fixed on the scales in front of him, even as the hours passed and the sun sank. He didn't even shiver at the atmospheric chill that whipped across his face as Dojo sped along.

Dojo, for his part, said nothing. His long lifetime had inured him to grief, but his throat still closed up around the grieving, just the same as fifteen hundred years before. The way that grief could simply transform those he knew into utter strangers alienated him, made the things he wanted to say die off as though he weren't trying to comfort a friend, but some kid he came across on a bench.

Under different circumstances, Omi would have been excited to see a place other than the temple. But that was getting hard to remember the longer the boy sat and buried his eyes in the curves and crevices of Dojo's scales.

It almost seemed rude to say anything, even the trite little comforting things, and so Dojo put the heart-to-heart on hold. The only time he spoke was to announce, "｢We're here,｣" as he landed on the grounds of the Shaolin Monastery.

What Omi noticed first were the shouts of alarm when Dojo settled onto the ground. The monks that  _he_  knew would have greeted a dragon's arrival with respect and some tea to recover from an undoubtedly strenuous journey; the monks surrounding them now formed a wide and broken circle around them. Every face bore the same general look, the sort of look one may have when encountering a mystical, awe-inspiring sight that ignited terrifying wonder in the imagination. Or the sort of look one may have when a dragon just landed not five feet away without any mention of what his intentions were. It was easy to get the two confused.

He knew it was silly, but the orange robes these monks wore unnerved him. Focusing on the monastery instead only served to make him more aware of just how large everything seemed. The training ground was a wide open space, free of any obstacle course. From his vantage point, he could see that it was separate from the temple grounds, which was surrounded by walls painted bright red rather than the unpainted walls he was used to.

"｢…Right.｣" Dojo coughed and waved. For most of his life, he didn't recall his appearance causing such gaping  _stares_. "｢So, um, I'm a dragon," he added, gesturing to himself in the hopes that clarifying the obvious would serve to naturalize recent events. "｢And this little fella is Omi. We just came from the Southern Xiaolin Temple. I think he needs medical attention. You've got doctors here, right? Yes? No…?｣"

Someone started to push through the dumbfounded crowd and barked out orders that shattered everybody's paralyzation. "｢Jiang Li! Take the boy to the infirmary! Guan Daoren, go prepare an extra bed! The rest of you will continue training!｣" The voice was loud, sharp, feminine, everything that the voices of Omi's adopted family wasn't. And yet it forcefully brought a sense of familiarity into the air, jolting the surrounding monks back into mobility. Those who had not been picked out made way for the ones who had, and Dojo finally diminished himself to a less fearsome size now that he was sure someone would actually make sure that Omi wouldn't fall flat on his face. The one named Guan Daoren immediately disappeared, hurrying along a path that Jiang Li was following with a more measured pace considering the burden on his back. Dojo moved towards Omi, but seeing Jiang Li flinch, he twisted his course and swirled towards the  _bǐqiūní_ who had taken control of the situation instead. She had waited by the doorway for Jiang Li to approach, and as he continued on, she fell in by his side. Dojo draped himself around her shoulders and examined the profile of her face.

It was much rounder than he was used to, but her shaved head served to accentuate her high cheekbones, giving her a no-nonsense air. She seemed to be younger than all the monks back at the former Xiaolin Temple, but her leathery, dark skin betrayed all the stories she had undoubtedly lived through. Master Fung was someone who gave the impression of one who had grown softer with age. This one had definitely treated age as a grindstone.

"｢Tell me what happened,｣" she said, not even sparing him a glance when he had settled around her neck.

Dojo flinched, choking on his question of her identity. At the very least, he had expected a question rather than a demand. And was it really a topic to talk about in front of, and here Dojo double-checked Jiang Li's robes, an obvious disciple?

But Omi had no apparent qualms. "｢The Xiaolin Temple is destroyed. Everyone there has…passed on unpeacefully and we were unable to properly pray for their spirits,｣" he said, startling Dojo who had thought he would refuse to talk. He was still leaning his head into the nape of Jiang Li's neck and his words breathed down his robes, coming out muffled. It almost hid his shaking voice.

The elder woman snapped her eyes downwards, her brow shooting up. "｢Including the other Chosen Ones?｣"

Despite his wounds, Omi whirled his head upwards, buoyed by pure shock alone. His hiss of pain was echoed by Jiang Li, who was starting to feel nails dig into his skin. "｢Excuse me?｣" he demanded, his confusion raising his voice into outrage.

Dojo wrung his hands, feeling as though his teeth were cracking under pressure. "｢You know, we could  _probably_  have this conversation in your office. I mean, you have an office, right? High-ranking person like you? And uh, he's got head trauma, he  _really_  needs his rest.｣"

"｢Nobody at the temple had told him?｣" the woman asked, arching an eyebrow towards the dragon around her neck. Omi's eyes slid down towards him as well. Dojo didn't need to look at either of them to feel the pressure of their stares, one that chilled him to his eye sockets and one that scalded his scales. His tail curled itself up into a knot.

Well, this was a wonderful start.

* * *

"｢So…are those really the marks? Did you really receive Jieba?｣"

Omi glowered at the scroll. When the woman had separated from them, Dojo in tow, he had asked Jiang Li who she was. (Answer: Grandmaster Guanyin.) It had apparently been a mistake, for Jiang Li had taken his question as an invitation to stick by his medical cot and pester him non-stop.

He nodded against his better judgment. Jiang Li responded with a whirlwind.

"｢But you're so much younger than me! How did you manage to earn them? When did you become a monk? Did it hurt? Are there many dragons where you're from? Or is he the only one? What's it like riding on a dragon? What styles of kung fu do you train in? I'm learning _Tóngzigōng_  and - ｣"

"｢I  _told_  you to leave him  _alone!｣_ "

There was the whirling sound of rustling cloth and a solid  _smack_  of a towel hitting a fleeing child which made Omi straighten up, and then the room settled back into silence and the earthy smell of spices as the  _thump thump thump_  of feet on the floor retreated into the distance.

When the old man settled down on his knees with sighing bones, Omi took the chance to glare full-on in his face. "｢How could you raise your hand to a disciple like that? Were you not properly taught kindness and respect?｣"

The doctor's eyebrows looked as though they were ready to fly off his face. It didn't help that they were as white as seagulls. "｢That is how you discipline children.｣"

"｢ _No_ , you discipline through  _strenuous labor_  - ｣"

"｢For being a chatterbox?｣" the man snapped back, before running a hand down his squared nose and tugging at his whiskers, which flattened slightly as he sighed through his nostrils. " _Aiya,_  ｢I didn't come here for a lecture! Let me see your ribs.｣"

There was a pause. "｢That means letting go of that thing,｣" he added.

At this, Omi only clutched the scroll tighter, sniffing in pain when it dug itself deeper in his chest. The man raised his hands to the ceiling, seeking sympathy from the rafters. "｢Fine. Fine! At least move it out of the way!｣"

Omi allowed himself to roll the scroll off his belly, on the side further from the doctor. With some relief, the old man started poking at his chest, examining any cuts, discolorations, rattling around bottles of salve and strong-smelling herbs. He was a flurry of activity, and yet still found time to be as much of a chatterbox as Omi's previous visitor.

"｢It's a good thing you arrived after closing time,｣" he added, after meandering around topics and complaints that meant nothing to Omi whatsoever. "｢That dragon of yours would've raised a lot of hullabaloo with the tourists. Ah, that would be quite a mess!｣"

Omi's eyes blinked wide open. "｢Tourists?｣"

"｢Yeah – keep still – you know how they are. Just today I had to treat this young man who thought it would be funny to stick his finger in - ｣"

"｢You open your temple to  _tourists?｣_ " This time, Omi managed not to shift himself, but the man flinched his needles away regardless. He blinked twice before settling his wrinkles into a sharp scowl.

"｢If it isn't one thing, it's another. You know, the most loathed critic is the righteous one?｣"

"｢But how could you dishonor your own temple by letting in tourists who have absolutely no  _understanding_  of our ways?!｣"

"｢Be _cause_ ," the old man replied, his voice finally raising to match Omi's, "letting in outsiders increases  _awareness_  and - ｣"

"｢Arguing with a child, Shi Xing Gong?｣"

Omi felt the power of Guanyin's voice enforcing guilt upon him, and by the way Shi Xing Gong flinched, he wasn't alone. The two elders bowed to each other. Omi glanced up from his position and saw that Dojo was still around her shoulders, holding his nose to block the sharp smell of medicine. "｢How is he?｣"

"｢Very lucky. Broken rib went nowhere near his lungs or heart. No signs of a concussion. He should be walking within the week, if not the next few days.｣"

"｢So you are done for now?｣"

Shi Xing Gong hesitated, ducking under Guanyin's half-lidded stare, before clattering smelly bottles back into position and then heading out the door. The three remaining listened to the heavy slap of his sandals until it faded from their ears.

Guanyin acknowledged Omi with a small bow before kneeling beside him. Omi's grip on the handle of the scroll tightened.

"｢From what Dojo has told me, it appears that someone has released Wuya. Someone with access to many dangerous weapons.｣" Explosions rang in Omi's ears again. The walls fell before them because what else could they do? They were built with more traditional weapons in mind. Not this. Not shadowy strangers holding metal tubes that brought forth something much stronger than a dragon's breath. Omi let out a shuddering breath of his own and pinched his eyes shut.

"｢Considering the ghostly form that Dojo witnessed, I am sure her goal is to regain her body through the use of Shen Gong Wu, but it's still unclear what her intentions were in destroying the temple. After all, there are no scrolls that document the locations of any Shen Gong Wu. Even if she thought there were, she must have realized that leveling the temple would also destroy the scrolls. If her only goal was to eliminate you - ｣"

"｢Maybe you should get to the point,｣" Dojo said sharply. Guanyin paused, her lips stretched thin.

"｢Yes. Well. It is imperative that we gather the Shen Gong Wu as soon as possible now that the balance of the world has been shaken.｣"

"｢I understand," Omi replied, bowing his head slightly. "As soon as I am well, I shall - ｣"

"｢ - Stay here and complete your training.｣"

Aware that his mouth was now just hanging open, Omi clicked his teeth together and flicked his eyes towards Dojo. In this point of the conversation, the dragon had stopped meeting his stare and instead examined Guanyin's ear with great intensity. "｢I do not understand,｣" Omi said, keeping his voice as tight as his grip. "｢I believe as the Chosen One, it is my duty to shoulder such tasks as these.｣"

"｢You are not  _the_  Chosen One, you are  _a_  Chosen One.｣" Guanyin moved her hand delicately against her forehead, accompanied by the soothing  _shush_ of her robes. The sigh she heaved was not as delicate. "｢I cannot imagine why Venerable Master Fung never thought to explain to you the existence of the other Dragons nor why he spent so much time on  _you_  rather than choose and train the other Chosen Ones. In any case, you are not…ready.｣"

Omi sat up this time, prompting Guanyin to jump to her feet when he sucked in a breath of pain. But he knocked away her reaching hands with his free arm. "｢I have trained my  _whole life_  for this! I already have complete control over my element!" With a clench of his fist, the bottles of liquid on the shelves rattled and then shattered as their contents pushed against their confines. Dojo instinctively slithered into Guanyin's sleeve as she raised an arm to ward off flying shards. "｢Who else is more suited to this journey than I?!｣"

Surrounded by globules of free-floating liquids, Guanyin lowered her arm. The look on her face struggled to remain tranquil, and any calm she managed to exude was counteracted by the angry flush in her cheeks. Omi tried to match her cold glare with one equally chilly. Dojo, ectotherm that he was, decided he preferred the cozy sleeve for the moment.

When Guanyin spoke next, her voice was even softer, a tundra breeze in an already Arctic environment. "｢And I trust that you would stay focused on your task? That even now your mind is not entertaining dark thoughts towards the one who has destroyed your home?｣"

In response, the globules boiled over and exploded. Omi's fist remained raised and he took a deep, shaky breath. His throat felt hoarse, he realized, and yet he couldn't recall screaming.

Dojo peered out from under Guanyin's arm. The Grandmaster didn't even wipe the scalding medicine off her face. "｢You are not ready.｣"

Seeing Omi's expression, Dojo wove his way through the air and landed besides him. Settling his claws on top of his blanket, he said, "｢Look…I think she's right on this one, okay? Just…let's just calm down.｣"

Omi's face burned, and not because of the smell of mingling medicines. He finally dropped his arm and turned his head downward, but still found himself saying more. "｢…You cannot possibly do it without me. You  _need_  me.｣"

"｢And  _you_  seem to be under the impression that you're much more special than you actually are.｣" Guanyin didn't so much snap as hiss her words out, slowly, deliberately, like an assassin dancing knives over a victim's skin. Despite her already straight back, she managed to make herself taller. Omi could see by the way her shadow shifted and grew on the floor. "｢When in actuality,  _anybody_  could have taken your place with the correct training. Master Fung called you a 'Chosen One,' and that was a mistake – you didn't get to where you are through some quirk of  _destiny,_  you were simply  _convenient_. An orphan child serendipitously left on his doorstep!｣"

Omi flinched at that, and Dojo drew himself up as tall as he was able. "｢Guanyin!｣" he snapped, but if he thought that was enough to stop her, he was wrong.

"｢His pampering, his neglect in telling you about the other elemental Dragons, giving you the Jieba at such a young age, all he has done is  _feed your ego!_ Choosing you was a  _mistake!｣_ " Guanyin's swinging arm very nearly knocked down the already-abused medicine shelf. Realizing that her cold voice had long ago cracked to reveal the raging rapids underneath, she snapped her fist back to her side and straightened herself up once more.

Guanyin's eyes wavered to the side, but only for a moment. "｢…You may continue your training here, but do not expect any special treatment. You technically are a mere disciple here, after all.｣" And on that note, she left the room, much faster than her dignified air would have allowed.

There was no longer anger in the air, only an overwhelming tension that left Omi gasping in his efforts to maintain calm. Dojo, realizing that his jaws had been hanging open for the past few minutes, snapped them shut and turned away from the door. "｢Don't mind her. She's just…tense. She doesn't really think that.｣"

If he had felt particularly cruel, Omi would have pointed out how funny it was, wasn't it? That it hadn't even been a full day and Dojo apparently knew the Grandmaster as intimately as he did Master Fung?

But he didn't feel cruel at all. Not because of any moral virtue, but because he simply didn't have the energy to feel  _anything_. Even his eyes were too tired for tears.

Omi rubbed at the burn marks on his forehead until he was in danger of breaking skin.

 


	3. Not Above Suspicion

Eventually, Omi grew well enough to move out from the infirmary and into the monastery proper. His first day as an almost-healthy individual started at five-thirty, like everybody else, and breakfast started at six. Dojo was nowhere to be found in the dining hall, though he could see Guanyin moving about, helping to serve the Eight Treasures soup. Instead, he found Jiang Li. Or rather, Jiang Li found him.

It wasn't that Omi was expecting to eat alone; that would have been impossible, considering the number of people living at the monastery compared to the number of benches available. It was just that he was hoping to sit next to monks who had the good sense not to bother him, not when he was getting used to a new routine, a new home, a new loss. The thin-faced boy (even if he was older, taller, he was clearly still a boy at heart) sliding in front of him did not have that good sense at all. He was joined by another monk who was a little younger, as evidenced by the baby fat clinging to his cheeks and his (lack of) height, but who shot an apologetic look towards Omi as he sat, immediately making a better first impression.

As soon as one of the elders scooped soup into Jiang Li's bowl, he tore into it like a cat tearing into curtains. Omi watched this spectacle with his spoon raised halfway to his open mouth. The boy besides Jiang Li ate normally, not even bothered by the flecks of soup and beans that would fly towards him once in a while. In mere seconds, Jiang Li slammed his dripping bowl on the table, which at least elicited a small reaction from the people around him, and beamed at Omi. Now that the remarkably grotesque show was over, Omi realized that he had let his first spoonful dribble back into his bowl and so he bowed his head and focused on the lotus seeds and dates floating inside.

"｢I never got your name! Mine's Jiang Li.｣"

"｢I know,｣" Omi replied, his spoon clinking against the sides of the bowl as he stirred sloppily.

The other boy paused long enough to give a polite nod. "｢I'm Ankun Zhang. Sorry about him. He's like a dog when it comes to people he's interested in.｣"

"｢And what's  _that_  supposed to mean?｣" Jiang Li asked, leaning towards his friend with one squinting eye. Despite his defensive tone, his face bore a wide smile that revealed the gap between his front teeth. Ankun gave way to Jiang Li's shoulder, pushed easily to the right before springing upright once more as soon as Jiang Li sat up and laughed. A girl sitting nearby shot him a nasty glare, but he didn't notice. "｢So anyways, what's your name?｣"

"｢Omi,｣" he replied after a moment of chewing.

"｢Omi what?｣"

"｢Just…Omi.｣"

Jiang Li's eternal smile finally dropped, but only for a moment. Ankun didn't react beyond flitting his eyes between him and Omi.

Another elder came around serving seconds.

Jiang Li ate slower this time around, but there was still a clear splash zone that Ankun was unfortunately sitting in.

"｢So, what's that 'Chosen One' stuff Grandmaster Guanyin was talking about?｣" he asked after wiping his mouth.

Ankun leaned an elbow on the table, languishing lazily in disbelief. "｢Like he'd just blurt out everything in a room full of - ｣"

"｢I was chosen to train as the Dragon of Water. That is what is meant by 'Chosen One.'｣"

Ankun's spoon dropped into his soup with a  _plink._  His heavy-lidded eyes opened slightly, though he soon lowered his brow and ducked his head into his soup. Jiang Li, on the other hand, leaned forward until his loose robes dipped into his empty bowl. "｢A Dragon! A Xiaolin Dragon! No  _wonder_  you have the  _Jieba_!｣"

"｢Jiang Li!｣" Ankun hissed, face still towards his bowl. "｢You're being too loud!｣" But it was too late. They had already attracted the attention of the children sitting nearby. There was a sudden press as everybody on the bench tried to squeeze into as small a space as possible, and then a different sort of press of murmured voices.

"｢The new kid's a Xiaolin Dragon? Like Master Monk Guan was?｣"

"｢Well, he  _was_  riding on a dragon.｣"

"｢But he's so young!｣"

"｢I heard they're complete masters of their own chi. Like, they can live forever and punch mountains and stuff!｣"

Despite himself, the warmth from the surrounding bodies and the babbling air wormed into Omi and warmed him to his fingertips until he couldn't help but smile. Across the table, Jiang Li looked as though he was enjoying himself as well, even as the other kids jostled his side. Ankun looked absolutely miserable, his scalp set in his hands and his chin firmly on the table. If Omi listened closely, he would have heard a low groaning that was steadily getting deeper the longer everybody talked.

"｢I am  _only_  training to be a Dragon,｣" Omi said, stressing the word to be modest, rather than out of modesty. At this, Ankun started his sigh over from the top.

"｢Hey, hey,｣" Jiang Li said, his face barely containing his own grin. "｢What can you do? Show us!｣"

Jiang Li's words gave rise to a rising tide of agreements and pleas, just to see even a  _little_  of some sorta awesome Xiaolin Dragon thing. Omi sat back as far as he could without falling over and held up his hands; the table quieted down immediately. Even Ankun couldn't help but sit up.

It wasn't like he was going to finish his soup, and anyways, who could pass up an audience like this? He took in a deep cleansing breath and everybody else held theirs in. And with a flex of his fingers, the soup began to dance.

He started straight off with a blooming lotus, which would have probably looked nicer if he were controlling pure water rather than bean-filled soup, and from there only delved into more intricate tricks – weaving knots that turned into dragons soaring through a tranquil and bean-y valley.

The little gasps of breath and the faint sounds of wonder that were barely louder than the background chatter served as strong encouragement even though he couldn't really hear them. But they were noticeable enough, at least in the back of his mind, that their sudden absence rocked him out of his self-indulgent stupor.

Looking up, Omi realized that the crowd had grown less claustrophobic. In fact, they had shuffled back into orderly rows on their benches. Even Jiang Li sat stiffly, quietly, eyes aimed at a speck of lotus root that had bravely escaped his bowl. Looking further up, Omi found himself staring into the face of Guanyin.

"｢Playing with our food, are we?｣"

The intricate scenery plopped back down into regular old soup. Unwilling to break eye contact, Omi craned his neck at an uncomfortable angle as he drained the broth. He let the bowl drop on the table and it wobbled on its base for a while before settling upright with a _click_. Everybody around them willfully kept their heads down.

Guanyin's eyes had only sharpened as time went on, narrowing into slits so small that they were almost closed. She was waiting for him to say something; perhaps an apology or some sort of acknowledgement. There was certainly something he wanted to say, but he didn't know what. So he said nothing at all.

It was probably for the best. Guanyin's thin eyes, her sharply soft face, her cold voice, her orange robes, they were all reminders of the permanent absence of Master Fung. Reminders that stabbed into his brain, his heart, reminders that oozed into his shoulders and solidified like cement. If he opened his mouth, they would have probably drowned him.

Guanyin scooped another ladle of soup into his bowl. "｢Eat normally if you want to fully recover.｣" Only when he saw her back retreating down the aisle did Omi lower his head. The table eased its way back to lackadaisical chatter. Jiang Li tackled his way back up to full enthusiasm.

"｢Hey, hey! After breakfast, we've got thirty minutes – wanna play some association football?｣"

"｢You're such an idiot,｣" Ankun murmured, prompting Jiang Li to grab him by the ears and roughly shake his head about.

When breakfast was over, Omi washed his bowl as quickly as possible.

* * *

Jiang Li was absolutely floored to learn that Omi had never played soccer before, or even heard of the game until now. "｢Then what did you do back at your temple?｣" He exclaimed, only to be nudged in the crook of his elbow by Ankun, who had noticed the way Omi's eyes flickered to the ground momentarily.

There was a smidgeon of a pause, which was enough time for Omi to take in a harsh breath that was free of dust, of rubble, of smoke. "｢I trained.｣"

"｢No, I mean for fun,｣" Jiang Li said, spinning the soccer ball around with both hands.

That was a good question. Omi tugged at the ends of his sleeves, his eyes flitting around as though the archives of his memory were floating right in front of him. He remembered training, both physical and mental. Chores. Meditation. He remembered lessons on all sorts of subjects taught in rooms lit only by lanterns.

"｢There was never somebody my age back there,｣" he said slowly, deliberately, willing himself to see the answer as satisfactory. On top of everything, he didn't need the strangling feeling of doubt about the quality of his life.

It was impossible to miss the glance that Jiang Li and Ankun shared, but it went by too fast for Omi to decipher it. "｢Well, we'll just have to teach you the rules, huh?｣"

"｢I mean, there's not much to it. You get the ball into the goal and you can't use your hands.｣"

At this, Omi brightened. "｢Ah! So it is an exercise in lessening your reliance on your hands!｣"

"｢Um,｣" said Ankun, running a hand over his shaved head. "｢It's really just a game.｣"

"｢But that's a good way of thinking about it,｣" Jiang Li added, a crooked smile spreading. "｢I mean, if Grandmaster Guanyin thought like that, then she'd let us play during training, right?｣"

Ankun's hand trailed down to his face and his shoulders rose like they were trying to cover his ears in embarrassment. "｢Why would you say that out  _loud?_  If someone heard you, they'd force you to do the horse stance again!｣"

"｢Yeah, well…I didn't mean nothing...I mean there's nothing wrong with wanting to play some football for training…｣" The way that Jiang Li was suddenly so interested in the way the soccer ball spun around in his hands suggested otherwise. Ankun reached up to poke him in the head so that Jiang Li couldn't even pretend to ignore him.

"｢Jeez, how long have you been here? When are you gonna grow a filter between your brain and your - ｣"

Omi coughed and instantly, the two snapped back into place.

"｢Pardon me, Omi. We shouldn't have let you see that.｣"

"｢Yeah, I shoulda warned you Ankun's always like this.｣"

A dark look crossed Ankun's face, but he kept his mouth shut.

"｢It is quite alright. Perhaps we should clear our minds with a game now?｣" he said, gesturing to the training field around them.

This was enough to finally stop Jiang Li's aimless spinning. "｢Um, but you haven't played before…? Like, shouldn't we show you how it's done first?｣"

"｢Yeah, and the teams are uneven. We should get another player…｣"

Omi chuckled and said, "｢Do not be concerned about my lack of skill. You see, I am a fast learner on top of being a Xiaolin Dragon.｣"

"｢In training,｣" Ankun muttered, but nobody seemed to hear. At this point, Omi's child-like bravado was filling his chest and the only expression on Jiang Li's face was that of a kid accepting the explanation of an adult. "｢Look, I can sit out. I don't really want to play that much anyways.｣"

"｢C'mon Ankun, don't be such a spoilsport.｣" But he was already walking off to the side, settling down by the far wall. Jiang Li stared after him for a moment, but turned back with a thin scowl. "｢Man, whatever. If we argue, we'll just waste time.｣" And with that, he dropped the ball and pinned it to the ground with his foot.

"｢So the only rule is that you are not allowed to use your hands?｣"

"｢And no hitting players. So that's your goal,｣" he said, pointing to the wall behind Omi before jerking his thumb backwards, "and that's mine. So if the ball hits either wall, one of us gets a point, okay? Now step back.｣" As Jiang Li waved his hands in a shooing motion, he took a few steps backwards as well, leaving the ball behind. Without looking, he called out, "｢Hey Ankun! Can you at least referee the game?｣"

Omi barely heard a noncommittal grunt.

"｢Okay, thanks. Ready, Omi? Start!｣" Jiang Li started his sprint faster than Omi did and got to the ball sooner. But Omi sped up, kicked it through Jiang Li's legs, and followed it by leaning back and skidding. Once he was behind the other boy, he caught the ball between his ankles, sprung onto his hands while using the momentum to shoot the ball straight into the air, and then jumped back onto his feet in time to perform a spinning kick that launched the soccer ball straight across the field and into Jiang Li's wall.

The ball bounced off with a hollow  _pok_ and skipped on the ground before finally rolling to a stop.

Hearing no other sound, Omi carefully turned around in case Jiang Li had suddenly been swallowed up by the earth or something in the short time he had his back towards him. But no, the young disciple was still standing there, his legs spread apart in the pose he had automatically taken upon seeing Omi moving between his legs. He hadn't even turned around, simply turned his head to watch in frozen awe. But now that he saw Omi staring back, he broke through his worshipful paralyzation and ran up to him with an eagerness that bordered on ferocity.

"｢That was  _so! Awesome!_  You  _gotta_  show me what else you can do!｣"

From his wall, Ankun murmured, "｢I thought this was supposed to be a  _game,_ ｣" but this time his words were too soft to overcome the atmosphere of admiration churning out from Jiang Li.

* * *

Omi was in the middle of a particularly intricate shot involving juggling the ball around with various parts of his body rather than simply kicking it to propel it forward when a long shadow crossed over the training field. Both Omi and Jiang Li skittered towards the walls as Dojo landed with a  _thrum._  The people who leapt off his back were some elder monks that Omi had seen in passing and Guanyin herself. There was something in her arms, and the question of what it was bumped away the question of when they had left. He hadn't noticed Dojo leaving, and that was a hard thing to miss.

"｢Hey kiddo,｣" the dragon called out, already weaving through the air to wrap the top of Omi's head in a hug. He eventually pulled away, but kept his tail wrapped firmly around his skull. "｢Holding up okay?｣"

"｢Ye-es,｣" Omi replied, his eyes focused on Guanyin's figure moving towards the monastery proper rather than on Jiang Li shuffling nearby with his soccer ball, rather than Ankun approaching with a stare that draped itself over Dojo's scales as politeness restrained his hands. "｢Where have you been?｣"

It was clear that Dojo had been waiting for this question by the way he said, "｢Oh, just in some mountains.｣" It had a coyly sing-song quality that implied a treasure trove of information he was holding back, setting Omi up for his next question. But the dragon was too impatient to even wait for that, and promptly threw away any semblance of coyness in favor of just saying everything on his mind. "｢Okay, so I've been trying to remember all the places Dashi and I hid the Wu and Grandmaster Guanyin actually knows where some of them are so together we've been putting together a list and we just went out to grab some of the ones we know for  _sure_  are in China and the Crouching Cougar was  _exactly_  where I remembered and you'd never  _guess_  where the Golden Tiger Claws were, they were in the Forbidden City,  _right_  in the emperor's palace! Even Dashi couldn't get in back in the day! And we don't exactly have it yet, we're negotiating since they've been put on display, but we're really close to getting it thanks to  _me_  doing a little pro convincing action - ｣"

"｢Did you say that Guanyin  _knows_  where some of the Wu are? How?｣" The last word came out more as a snap than a question. Both Jiang Li and Ankun opened their mouths to correct him, but their hasty whisper of "｢ _Grandmaster_ _｣"_  fell on deaf ears.

Dojo shrugged, unaware that the gesture was pointless as Omi had still not turned away from Guanyin. "｢Things get found. I guess we didn't hide some of the things as well as we thought we did. Grandmaster Guanyin's actually been tracking down whatever Wu she can. She's  _really_  on top of the news, and she's been cozying up to loads of archeologists and museum owners around the world. We've been stuck up in our own little mountain, so…｣"

"｢Dojo!｣" Despite the distance, Guanyin's voice could carry itself across the field and then some. "｢We're about to open! You should come hide in my office!｣"

The dragon's entire body sagged, his enthusiasm being beaten back by the certain future of ten hours of doing nothing. Still, before he glided off of Omi's head, he found the time to say, "｢Sorry we couldn't take you. Maybe when you've fully recovered, though. I'll be sure to vouch for you, okay?｣"

Dojo and Guanyin disappeared from sight. Omi simply stood, staring at empty space, before turning back towards Jiang Li and Ankun, who immediately stood at attention when they sensed they were becoming relevant again.

"｢We're about to open?｣"

"｢Yeah, after break, we open the gates to visitors,｣" Ankun explained.

Omi's eyes flickered to the sun and back. "｢But is this not the time when you begin the first training session of the day?｣"

The two disciples shrugged in response. "｢People like watching us train.｣" Seeing the expression on Omi's face marred Jiang Li's with uncertain shame. "｢Is…that not good?｣"

Arms akimbo, Omi surveyed the training grounds with a different lens. "｢Well,  _I_  would never turn my personal training into a superficial  _display_. My conscious would not allow me to train for the entertainment of  _tourists._ ｣"

"｢How fortuitous, as I believe you are not well enough to train.｣"

Jiang Li and Ankun immediately bowed, keeping their heads down longer than usual, but Omi only turned around stiffly. Guanyin bowed in return before shifting her thin eyes towards Omi. With this pattern of suddenly appearing behind him just in time to disparage whatever he said, he couldn't help but feel spied on. "｢I'm sorry that we can't devote the entire temple to your desires, as I'm sure you're used to.｣"

Omi flushed, but refused to look away. Guanyin had almost a supernatural ability to make him feel shame for the tiniest things that shouldn't be shameful at all. Maybe that was how she became Grandmaster; shaming everybody into submission. That thought alone solidified his glare.

It seemed to have little effect on her. "｢In any case, I came here to give you a job. Since you can't and won't train, I'd like you to watch over the donation bowl.｣" Guanyin's last few words managed to unbalance Omi enough that all he could do in response was to catch the bowl that she took out from her sleeve and babble a few confused but righteous syllables. "｢There's a chair and table in front of the training ground gates. Sit there and make sure nobody steals from the bowl.｣"

"｢You  _solicit money_  as well?｣" Omi finally managed to say, his hands gripping the bowl tight. Behind him, Jiang Li started to shuffle uncomfortably again, waiting for another opportunity to bow and hide his face. Ankun was able to remain impassive.

"｢A temple cannot run on pure spirituality alone,｣" replied Guanyin as she bowed a goodbye to the two disciples. Jiang Li and Ankun took the opportunity gratefully. Before the  _bǐqiūní_  turned to leave, she added, "｢I suggest you get to your post now.｣"

Omi would have thrown the bowl at her back, but he remembered that he was taught control. So he took a few controlled breaths and then threw the bowl at the ground.

The other monks were already starting to file in. Ankun left to take his place, but Jiang Li lingered, fingers wrapped around each other as though trying to hide behind the other. "｢So…we'll see you at lunch I guess?｣"

* * *

Watching a bowl was already intolerable, but Omi was also sitting near the training ground entrance, right where the throng of tourists congregated. They formed like a fetid clot, plugging up the gates with their warm bodies shoulder to shoulder, grinding against each other as they searched for the perfect position to aim their small devices at, devices that clicked and flashed relentlessly. Worst of all were the  _lǎowài_. White-skinned foreigners with sunglasses who pointed and laughed and stared, talked in front of him like he couldn't understand every word of English they spoke, and leaned over him, saying " _ni hao_ " over and over again, drawing out the vowels obnoxiously long, sounding like mere babes but worse. Even infants didn't mess up the tones as badly as they did. Their attempts to be quiet just made their noise all the more noticeable. It would be impossible for Omi to meditate and force the world away from him.

Watching the monks train was not any better. Whenever he got fed up and leapt to the top of the wall, there was always something  _wrong._  The moves were recognizable, but horribly  _wrong_  in some subtle way that tightened his teeth. The movements too wide. Often unnecessary. As though they prided form over function.

With his only options being 'glare angrily at tourists' and 'glare angrily at the training grounds,' Omi opted for the one that didn't involve him stepping away from the bowl. If anything, Guanyin wasn't about to accuse him of abandoning his post. The clink of coins as they landed on their brethren was at least therapeutic in that it usually signaled some family or another leaving. So he focused on this sound, willing it to continue, faster, faster, until he was so engrossed in it that the sight of passing legs that  _weren't_  preceded by a  _clink_  almost made him fall out of his chair in surprise and sheer affront.

He looked up and was made aware of just how long he had sat by the way his entire spine complained. The man who had walked by looked like a well-off Chinese, judging by his sleek suit and tinted glasses and neatly-groomed ponytail, which just made his negligence more inexcusable. Omi slid off the chair and swiped the bowl off the table to give chase before the man disappeared in the crowd flowing towards the monastery.

"｢Excuse me! Honorable stranger?｣" With a few quick strides, Omi was already tugging on the man's cuffs. The man whirled around, arms raised in defense, until his eyes alighted on the small boy and he relaxed.

"｢…Yes?｣" he said, straightening out his sleeve and glancing towards the monastery behind his glasses.

In response, Omi raised up the bowl. "｢I believe you forgot to do something as you were leaving, honorable stranger.｣"

There was a pause during which absolutely no money was exchanged. "｢You're kidding me.｣" Omi shook the bowl a little to make the coins clatter. The weight was starting to make his arm ache and the way that the man didn't move his hands to his pockets was not improving his mood. "｢Kid, I believe this is a  _monastery._  You're way into  _immaterial_  goods or whatever, aren't you? We aren't supposed to pay fees.｣"

Omi sympathized with what he said so much that it took some amount of willpower for him not to nod along with the man. But it felt as though he had taken a one-way path. He had already gotten this far. There was no going back.

"｢It is true that donations are not  _required,_  but consider the spiritual rewards of donating. Such an act brings you that much closer to  _nièpán_ , the purification of your soul, sir. Even a little would be enough!｣"

By now, a curious crowd of tourists were slowing to a stop around them, keeping a respectable distance in a circle. Neither of them paid any mind. "｢Unfortunately for my soul, I don't have money to spare,｣" the man said, straightening his lapels and turning to leave.

Omi's strained smile broke down as their flimsy supports collapsed under the weight of his building disdain. "｢Then you are a liar and a crook! It is very clear that you  _do_  have plenty of money, which you hold onto so dearly with your greedy, black heart! Know that such a soul heavy with the love of the material shall  _never_  throw off the shackles of ignorance!｣"

"｢What a loud preacher,｣" the man sighed, turning around again with a dangerously crooked smile. Careful not to get dirt on his pants, he crouched low enough to be face-to-face with Omi and set a gloved hand on Omi's head with a light grip that threatened to tighten. "｢Listen, kid. Let me give you some advice – shut your mouth, go back to your job of sitting quietly for the nice foreigners, and we'll all move on like nothing's happened, okay?｣"

Omi's eyes flared as hotly as his cheeks. "｢You would not be speaking to me in this manner if you knew who I was.｣"

"｢Oh?｣" The man's crooked grin spread like cracking ice. "｢And  _who_  are you, little boy?｣"

"｢ _Omi!_ _｣"_  Guanyin exclaimed before he could even open his mouth to introduce himself. In an instant, she had pushed her way through the crowd and separated the two with surgical precision. Her grip on his head didn't threaten at all, but squeezed with a clear sign that he should let her do the talking. The man backed away, his smile melting into something more natural. "｢I am  _so_  sorry, sir. This does not normally happen.｣"

"｢So you're the boss, right? You really should discipline your kids here. They could get into trouble with an attitude like that.｣"

"｢Yes, yes, you are right. We are  _terribly_  sorry,｣" Guanyin said, her grin looking strange on her face. Compared to the man's sharp smile, hers was dull and revealed too many wrinkles. Every other syllable, she would nod her head, pushing down on Omi's so that he would nod as well so that all he could see clearly was the man's hands sliding easily back into his pockets. That simple movement was enough to exude a lethal amount of smugness. Omi had never realized how much he could hate such a simple action until now.

The pressure on his head increased until he was forced onto his knees. "｢ _Apologize,_ ｣" Guanyin hissed, motioning for him to kowtow as she pushed him down even further until only dirt filled his vision. As he coughed, as dust stung his eyes as well as his pride, he knew that he would not be able to stand another day in this wretched place.

 


	4. For the Sake of Someone Else

Omi's apology was half-hearted and saturated with dirt but Guanyin still let him go, though he suspected it was only because the bell had rung for incantations. The elderly woman pushed him towards the stream of monks that were now filing out of the training grounds, each and every one keeping their face forward but their eyes lingering at the corners. The tourists who had encircled the scene got swept away in another distraction of culture and trailed behind the marching line, leaving Omi to trail behind as he slowly realized that not even the chants would be private.

Turning away from the crowd, Omi couldn't help but notice that Guanyin had not fallen in line as well. Instead, she was moving down a different path along with the man from before, her head still bobbing down once in a while as he strode beside her with a confidence that matched his suit. Omi soon walked into a wall.

As he rubbed at his cheek, he couldn't help but feel grateful that everybody else had continued on and so nobody had witnessed his embarrassment. By now the line of monks and the crowd that tagged behind had disappeared around a corner and, looking back, Omi saw the tail end of Guanyin's robe disappear behind a stout building.

There was no need to even think it over. Omi pattered over to the path that Guanyin and the man had taken, only slowing as he reached the corner so he could peer around it. The alley was sparsely filled with straggling tourists, who were not in the habit of wearing either robes or suits. His targets stuck out like murder. It was a simple task to keep his distance while also keeping them in sight, though occasionally the tourists he passed would point more devices at him and jabber on meaninglessly.

It wasn't that he was  _spying_  on them, no, of course not. He had merely lost his way, seeing as he was still unused to the layout, and he noticed Guanyin and figured he could go and ask her and so was just trying to catch up. For three blocks.

Finally, in the time it took for about seventeen tourists to point and gawk at him, Guanyin knocked on a door of a building that stood slightly taller than the rest before inviting the man inside. As soon as the door slid shut, Omi closed the distance he had kept and soon had his ear pressed against the doorway. This wasn't the least compromising position he could take, he realized as the murmurs rippling through the air turned into something more like waves, and so he made his way around the side of the building instead. The shadows hid nothing but a particularly crowded tree, and he wound up into its branches with ease. One bough was conveniently close to a conveniently placed window, though the angle did not permit him to see the inhabitants inside very well. But that only encouraged him to slink closer. If he couldn't see them, then they obviously couldn't see him.

Their conversation was spoken in measured tones, much too soft for Omi to hear clearly even as he shimmied closer, dangerously close to the end of the branch, which responded by dipping dangerously close to its breaking point. So focused was he on maintaining balance while also trying to pick out any words in the air that Omi simply did not consider the possibility of someone else being in the tree with him.

"｢And just  _what_  are you doing here?｣"

It took all of his strength of mind to not shout or fall out of the tree or even both. Instead, Omi stiffened, making the branch underneath quiver with the tension, before looking up. Dojo looked down at him. He didn't look very amused.

"｢I-I was lost,｣" Omi mumbled.

"｢You must be  _pre-tty_  lost, champ,｣" Dojo said, raising an eyebrow towards the sheer tree surrounding them. Omi clutched the branch tighter and looked back down, biting his lip more out of self-awareness than shame. He could feel Dojo's stare heating up his head, the stare the dragon would break out for the rare times Omi ever felt like lying to him, like the time he accidentally flooded the greenhouse or the time all the dishes mysteriously found themselves outside the temple grounds, yet admittedly squeaky clean. The stare that said, 'You ain't foolin' anyone, kid. I'm older and wiser by, like, a lot, more than you can ever conceive. I know every trick in the book and I've heard every excuse ever made. You have only been given consciousness for a paltry decade. Do the math.'

Omi squeezed his eyes shut but his guilty mouth moved faster. "｢I skipped the morning incantations to spy on Guanyin.｣"

"｢Mm-hm,｣" said Dojo, nodding slightly but still keeping his arms crossed. The reluctant confession took with it heavy guilt, and Omi finally raised his head again. "｢And what do we think about spying?｣"

"｢May I ask what you are doing in this tree?｣"

Dojo's frown deepened for a moment, but he snorted any grievances away and said, "｢I'm not really supposed to be seen, considering most folks don't know that dragons exist. So I came out here when Grandmaster Guanyin tapped on the door. Also, I'm eavesdropping.｣"

It was Omi's turn to give Dojo a look, but before the boy could say anything, Dojo spoke over him. "｢And before you say anything, I'm not the one skipping important spiritual rituals. Also, I'm older than you and know better. Also, I'm bored.｣"

"｢I have  _very_  good reasons for doing this,｣" Omi hissed back, pushing himself in a more comfortable sitting position. As he crossed his legs, he held back on voicing the accompanying thought. Instead, he leaned closer and whispered, "｢I have doubts about Guanyin's intentions.｣" Dojo raised his other eyebrow.

"｢Grandmaster Guanyin. And okay, I'll bite. What undoubtedly non-paranoid suspicions do you have about her?｣"

"｢Have you not noticed,｣" Omi began, his voice getting quieter as though that would aid in his explanation, "｢that all she has done is hinder my training and kept me from my destined task?｣"

"｢You're injured,｣" Dojo pointed out.

"｢And I am most suspicious of the manner in which she had sought out the Shen Gong Wu. Which, I remind you, were  _meant_  to be kept hidden, rather than found. Why did she feel the need to keep track of them so feverishly,  _before_  the balance of the world was in danger?｣"

"｢Maybe 'cause they were being found anyways and she figured it would be good to know where they were, just in case.｣" Dojo interrupted, twirling his beard around a claw.

"｢Or  _maybe_  it is because she has allied herself with the forces of  _evil_  and has been feeding the enemy information to our detriment!｣" The branch seemed to quiver with Omi's enthusiastically quiet accusation. Dojo's eyebrows could not physically go any higher, and so he settled for a long, cold stare.

"｢You might want to walk me from Point A to Point B.｣"

Omi unclenched his fists and started gesturing at nothing at all, as though the answers were written in the leaves around them. "｢It explains why she has been keeping me inactive, despite the fact that it is my  _duty_  to maintain the balance of the world! It also explains why she had already made many preparations regarding the acquisition of the Shen Gong Wu! Not to mention, she has just invited an unscrupulous and most impolite man into her office to talk secretly about  _something!_ ｣"

Dojo tilted his head towards the window and flicked an ear. "｢They're talking about reparations regarding the behavior of a certain monk. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?｣"

Omi crossed his arms and glared to the left. "｢He was  _very_  rude.｣"

The leafy smell of the air temporarily shifted something more sulfur-y when Dojo let out a possibly-flammable sigh. Omi tried not to plug his nose as the dragon slithered down and around his shoulders. "｢Word of advice,｣" he said, patting the back of the monk's head in a way that let Omi know that he wasn't particularly in any trouble. "｢Don't tick off people in suits. They'll always give you  _loads_  of trouble. It's not worth it, even if they  _are_  rude. Actually,  _especially_  if they're rude, since that means that they've got enough self-importance that they take any sort of insult as an excuse to show off their - ｣"

Dojo broke off suddenly, managing to skid to a stop before the Point of Old Geezer Ranting. With a cough, he changed tracks. "｢ _The point is,_  I know things have been real tough for you lately, and that maybe you're getting all antsy in this monastery with nothing much to do. But you really aren't doing anybody favors by acting like this, including yourself. So maybe you should try, y'know, calming down a bit? Try to relax. Heal. Like, physically and stuff, but…not just that, y'know?｣"

Omi turned his head until Dojo's grimacing face completely disappeared from view. "｢You do not believe me.｣"

"｢Well...your story…｣" Dojo bobbed his hands like scales weighing truth. "｢…It doesn't exactly hold water.｣"

"｢Master Fung would have listened,｣" Omi muttered, so quiet that it could have been merely a breath. Dojo clamped his maw shut with a  _click_  that whipped Omi's head back towards him with a hasty "｢I did not mean to offend｣" leaping from his tongue, but the dragon was already retreating higher into the tree until he seemed to be perfectly camouflaged in the leaves.

"｢It's almost lunchtime. Probably should get a head start, seeing as you're so  _lost_  and all.｣"

There was no arguing against a hint like that, no response besides just taking it. The window lost its intrigue completely and so Omi found himself walking away. Not even the alienating pointing of the tourists could compete with the heavy feeling that pressed down on his head and behind his eyes.

* * *

Even if Dojo noticed nothing, there was something  _wrong_ about this whole situation and Guanyin was at the center of it. It was only a question of substantial proof. Or at the very least, proof that Guanyin's character wasn't as pure as her occupation implied.

Unfortunately, it seemed that she had everybody under her thumb.

"｢Why're you asking so many questions about Grandmaster Guanyin?｣" Ankun asked, swinging his legs over the wall. Jiang Li was intently poking a finger into one of the many holes drilled into a tree. Seeing as he was still under orders to not strain his body by training, Omi joined Ankun on the wall surrounding the monastery grounds. His ascent was much nimbler in comparison to Ankun's, who had reached the top with the speed of a deliberative rock-climber on one of those fake walls. By the end of his climb, Ankun had to lie down for a moment.

"｢I am simply trying to get to know my new surroundings,｣" Omi replied, his eyes constantly flitting towards Ankun's legs because they were the only thing moving. His slippers knocked against the plaster at shifting intervals, never at the same time, so that the noise never managed to fade into the background.

"｢Well I think you'd have better luck asking someone older. Like, someone who's been around about as long as her. I've only really been here six years or something.｣"

"｢That is six years longer than I.｣"

Ankun's mouth twisted into a wry smile for a fraction of a second. "｢Well…she's smart. And she's pretty strict, I guess, but it's to make us better and stuff. And she must've worked real hard to become the Grandmaster.｣"

"｢But has she ever seemed obsessive to you?｣"

Ankun's legs stopped swinging. "｢Like how?｣"

"｢Like concerning Shen Gong Wu,｣" Omi pressed. At this, Ankun finally turned to look straight at him.

"｢Shen Gong what?｣"

Omi's head turned with a speed that threatened to toss him off the wall entirely. His mouth opened to release some sort of exclamation, but his brain had too many to choose from. In the end, the only thing he could do was weakly repeat, "｢Shen Gong Wu.｣"

There was the sound of feet pounding on ground, on plaster, and then Jiang Li suddenly appeared, thrusting his arms around the top of the wall. His legs pushed and wheeled in the air until he gave up and just dangled where he was. "｢You were talking about that before, I think! Right? Is this another Chosen One thing?｣" he asked, though muffled on account of his chin being firmly set on the wall.

Omi hadn't been quite prepared for the sudden appearance of Jiang Li, and so his mind scrabbled for some sort of answer. "｢Th-they're the mystical artifacts Grandmaster Dashi created during his spiritual journeys…have, have you not learned about the exploits of Grandmaster Dashi?｣"

"｢Well of  _course,_ ｣" Ankun replied, affronted.

"｢Yeah, like he went around the world doing cool things and got this following and discovered all this stuff about chi and taught like Chase Young and Master Monk Guan and they went around like doing good deeds and defeated evil everywhere and then Master Monk Guan came here and made this monastery.｣"

"｢But we never heard of anybody making something called Shen Gong Wu,｣" Ankun finished while Jiang Li took in a deep breath that threatened to dislodge him from the wall.

And yet Guanyin knew all about them. Which meant…something, definitely. In a dark part of Omi's mind, wheels began to spin.

* * *

The unmistakable form of Dojo made a not-so-stellar landing on the training field. As soon as he skidded to a stop, several monks swarmed him with cots already prepared. Guanyin jumped down and started barking out orders, which seemed almost unnecessary as the cot-bearers were already doing a fine job loading her companions and carting them away. Even with all the chaos, Omi managed to squeeze his way to where Dojo lay.

"｢What's going on!｣" he shouted above the ruckus, setting his hands on Dojo's snout. The dragon had still not reduced his size. His breath slipped out between his teeth in wheezes that pushed Omi back. The setting sun cast shadows across his body, which did not serve to make him look any better. Omi would have worried if Dojo hadn't opened an eye and grumbled in the way that tired, but healthy people do.

"｢I've just flown across like ten time zones for probably three hours straight. Get back to me when I've slept.｣"

With much of the pressure of the situation dissipated, Omi couldn't help but smile. Still, he shook Dojo again before the dragon had a chance to sink into a nap. "｢But what happened? Dojo!｣"

From someplace metaphysically far away, Dojo replied, "｢It's bad…something went wrong…｣" before finally shrinking down and snoring right in the dirt. At this point, Guanyin scooped the dragon into her arms and started hurrying off. Omi pursued before the crowd had a chance to close behind her.

"｢What is going on?｣" he demanded as they left behind the murmuring rabble. "｢Were you not supposed to retrieve the Golden Tiger Claws? Where  _is_  it? Why did you fly  _halfway across the world_  when it was right here in China? How were all those people  _injured_?｣"

Guanyin's voice seemed far away as well, but not out of exhaustion. As Omi struggled to keep pace, he heard her mumble, "｢Somehow…they knew where everything was…they took everything out of all the museums…as though…｣"

"｢As though they had  _connections_ , perhaps?｣" Omi said, his words as sharp as his eyes, which were currently pointed up at Guanyin. The woman finally looked down at him, only now becoming aware of his presence. Her stiff expression softened just enough to form a scowl.

"｢Shouldn't you be in bed?｣" she snapped in return, setting a leathery hand on his head and spinning him around before he could retort. When he turned around again, she had disappeared.

The walk to the sleeping quarters was slow and ponderous. Obviously, someone had gotten to the Golden Tiger Claws before them, someone undoubtedly evil and most likely working for the newly-released Wuya – the person who had released her in the first place, perhaps. The question was how they could have known, considering that until recently, only Guanyin knew its location. Not only that, but they had beaten Guanyin to the other locations of the Shen Gong Wu that she had kept track of using her various connections. By chance, perhaps Dojo managed to get to a location at the same time as this mysterious thief, only for the pursuing monks to get brutally attacked. Except for Guanyin.

He didn't quite know the full situation, but he knew enough.

* * *

It took a while for everybody to get settled into sleep, considering the recent excitement, but eventually the monks succumbed to the air's caress, warm with body heat. The only thing keeping Omi awake was the sheer audacity of what he was about to do. Long after the whispering died down and the only sounds were that of rhythmic breathing, Omi lay still on his mat, straining his ears for something he might miss. It took him just about an hour to bring himself to even sit up. The journey to the door felt even longer, every step a potential alarm. It was too dark to properly see where he was stepping, and so he had to feel his way with his bare feet for coarse wood rather than a soft lump of flesh. It was only when he crawled out the door that he relaxed and sat on the threshold, slipping on his shoes.

Omi waited for a moment, listening at the door for any sound of someone getting up to follow him, but he heard nothing. With a soft sigh, he turned to the task at hand and then realized that he had absolutely no idea where Guanyin's office was.

It really didn't help that it was night – the darkness turned the monastery into something unearthly different and unfamiliar so that his already poor sense of the layout was rendered useless. Maybe things would look more recognizable at a higher vantage point. Omi readied himself to spring on the roof of the sleeping quarters, but thought better of it and leapt to the roof of the building opposite.

It turned out that 'a higher vantage point' translated to 'a bunch of roofs that look the same.' Omi almost kicked the shingles in frustration and his grunt turned into steam that curled and twisted away in the air. After going through all the trouble of sneaking out in the first place, he wasn't about to give up on his plan. At the same time, he didn't want to think about how long just aimlessly wandering could take. With another sigh for good measure, Omi jumped back down in front of the sleeping quarters.

"｢What are you doing.｣"

Omi tried to jump and spin around at the same time and just ended up falling over backwards. He tried to regain some dignity by springing back up to his feet in a ready stance and pointing dramatically at his surprise visitor. "｢Well what are  _you_  – Ankun?｣"

"｢Yeah,｣" said the monk, his voice a prepubescent yawn.

"｢Where did you  _come from?_  How did you follow me out without me noticing? How could you have  _woken up?_ ｣" It was getting hard for Omi to keep his voice low, but he somehow managed. Ankun was not having any similar trouble, although he was noticeably rousing himself back into wakefulness as he started to rub his upper arms.

"｢You jumped on the roof of where I sleep. It's hard not to notice that,｣" Ankun replied, jabbing a thumb backwards.

Omi gave an incredulous glance towards the building behind Ankun. "｢But why are you sleeping in there?｣"

"｢Well, it's the girls' sleeping quarters,｣" Ankun responded, brow starting to furrow.

This answer only served to confuse Omi into repeat his question, but at a higher pitch. "｢But – but why are you sleeping  _there?_ ｣"

Ankun gave a stare as cold as he was probably feeling. "｢Because I'm a girl.｣"

Oh.

"｢Oh.｣"

There was not much else for Omi to say besides that one syllable, and so he stood there, blankly looking Ankun up and down for what seemed like the first time. He – that is, she – shivered slightly and turned her stare into a glower. "｢You thought I was a boy?｣"

"｢Well, it is sometimes very hard to tell,｣" said Omi, finally lowering his arm.

Ankun's glower hardened into a squinty sort of glare. "｢Is that really all you have to say?｣"

"｢Huh?｣"

"｢You're unbelievable,｣" said Ankun as she hunched her shoulders and stared down to her left.

Omi opened his mouth, closed it again, and then said, "｢So…you are not stopping me from leaving…?｣"

"｢Oh, that's what you're doing, huh?｣"

Omi paused. "｢No.｣"

With a scoff, Ankun turned back towards him and gave a condescending smile. "｢Jeez, don't be so worried. I'll help you. What do you need?｣"

In his shock, Omi unconsciously replied, "｢I don't know where Guanyin's office is.｣"

"｢Alright. Come on.｣" And, still rubbing at her arms, Ankun started shuffling down a path. After a moment's hesitation, Omi followed.

The next thing that Omi said, he spoke as though he wasn't sure whether he wanted to let the words go. "｢Not that I am ungrateful, but…why exactly are you helping me?｣"

Ankun walked faster so that they were not side-by-side. Omi could only see the back of her head when she said, "｢You know, Jiang Li really does admire you.｣"

Omi blinked and let a breath out through his nose. "｢Yeah. So?｣"

"｢So that's why.｣"

The two tromped through the monastery grounds in relative silence after that, Omi mostly trying to figure out whether he was supposed to ask for clarification or not. He never got the chance to. Ankun knocked him out of his thoughts by tapping lightly on the door of Guanyin's office.

Luckily for him, none of the buildings had any locks. Omi pushed the door open but paused before entering. "｢You are really not going to…?｣"

Ankun let out a short bark of a laugh. "｢Like I'm gonna confess that I helped you run away. Just be gone before everybody wakes up.｣" And then, rubbing at her eyes, she stiffly turned around and started back to bed. Omi only watched her leave for a few seconds before pushing his way inside.

As he thought, there was a map with several markings on the desk. Several, actually, one looking like it had only recently been exposed to fresh air and the other straight from a modern atlas. Omi snatched them both before trying to find Dojo. When he stood still, he could hear snoring coming from the drawers, so he snapped them open until he found the dragon curled up on a tatty blanket. Omi poked at the side of his head.

"｢Dojo.  _Wake up._ ｣"

Dojo's snores continued unabated until Omi finally just shook him. The dragon's snore turned into a snort and then an affronted groan. "｢Whaaaaaaaaaat. Wha'z it. Time…?｣" Dojo didn't bother waiting for an answer, instead shoving away Omi's hand and burrowing himself deeper into the makeshift bed. In response, Omi pulled him out by the tail.

"｢Dojo, we have to leave  _now!_ ｣"

As Omi dragged him out, Dojo's head bonked against the edge of the drawer, waking him up in the rudest way possible. " _Aiya!_   _Wángbādàn, cào nǐ zǔzōng shíbā dài –_ "

Instinctively, Omi covered his ears. "｢Be quiet! It's me!｣"

That woke Dojo enough for him to realize that his audience shouldn't really hear what he was saying, though not enough for him to let go of his grumpiness. "｢Omi? What  _time_  is it? What the  _heck_  are you doing here? Don'cha know it's bad luck to wake a sleeping dragon, hm?｣" Dojo tried to end with a conspicuous yawn, but the bump on his head left him rather yawn-less and so he had to settle for squinting in the general direction of Omi's face.

"｢We have to leave now, before Guanyin finds us here. Do you know where she keeps the Crouching Cougar?｣"

"｢Woah, woah, woah,  _time out!_  Calm down, buddy. What's going on?｣"

As Dojo's voice got softer, quieter, Omi took a few deep breaths and then blurted out, "｢ _Guanyin is a traitor!_ ｣"

The dragon slowly lowered his hands from his ears. "｢Calmer than that.｣"

Omi was gulping down air now, his mind running a marathon. "｢She knew where much of the Shen Gong Wu were, and she told evil men so they could take them to Wuya which is why they were gone when you got there, and she let those other men get beaten up, and she would have told them about the ones  _you_  knew about except now we're leaving to get the Shen Gong Wu on our own so she will not do that.｣"

It took a while for Dojo to untangle that mess of a sentence, but he got the general idea. "｢Didn't we have this conversation before?｣" he asked, leaning back and making himself comfortable in Omi's fists since it seemed the boy was not letting go anytime soon.

"｢Yes, but this time my suspicious really  _do_  explain everything!｣"

"｢Okaay,｣" said Dojo, weaving a claw through the air. "｢Why? What's her motivation?｣"

Omi's eyes shot up and to the left in concentration. "｢I admit it does not explain that, but the motivation is not the important part. What  _is_  important is that as long as the search for Shen Gong Wu is under her command, the balance of the world is not safe, and so we must go do it ourselves.｣"

"｢Alright Omi, think about this for a sec,｣" said Dojo, trying to keep his voice level even though Omi seemed about ready to shake him for lunch money. "｢There's like a hundred and eight of 'em. If we're gonna go collect them ourselves, where are we gonna put 'em? I _assume_  not here because - ｣"

"｢ - She'll bring them to the enemy,｣" Omi finished firmly.

"｢Yeah. That. But speaking of which, where are we gonna stay? We're kinda short one temple and frankly, I don't know many places we can trust. This was the only other place I knew that was even remotely connected to Dashi. The world isn't exactly the friendliest place for a kid and a dragon.｣"

"｢I do not know,｣" Omi said with great confidence.

"｢But I suppose you still wanna go,｣" Dojo replied, his mouth somewhere in between a grimace and a smirk.

"｢This is  _important,_  Dojo! If you do not wish to help, then I'll just go on my own!｣"

"｢Oh. Oohh no.｣" Dojo crossed his arms, turning his head away. He would have turned completely around if he wasn't physically restrained from doing so. "｢You aren't getting me that way. If I don't help you, you can't go anywhere, so don't you  _dare_  try to guilt me into helping out your crazy schemes.｣"

"｢I  _will,_  Dojo, I - ｣"

"｢You  _really_  want me to believe that you'll just go out and save the world  _on foot?_ ｣"

Omi's words stopped in his throat and went on strike, forcing his mouth to close. His grip tensed, but he loosened on reflex at the sound of Dojo's grunt. Still, his eyes didn't lose that possessed glint.

"｢Perhaps not. But please at least consider this,｣" he said, his voice losing the hysterical tinge, moving softer, softer, calling on experience. "｢If we do keep the Shen Gong Wu here, what would happen? Wuya and her allies would attack this place without remorse in order to take what they want, and no doubt they would not care if they involved unrelated people. You know this.｣"

Dojo did not contradict the statement.

"｢Therefore,｣" Omi continued, not shouting, not negotiating, not begging, "｢it will be best for everybody if we took the Shen Gong Wu with us and give Wuya a moving target.｣"

Dojo did not contradict this either. Rather, he made a disgruntled sound that slowly dragged itself into a groan. "｢ _Fine._  I get it. The Crouching Cougar's under a trapdoor under her desk.｣"

Omi did not grin, only nodded and said, "｢Thank you.｣"

"｢I really hope you know what you're getting into,｣" Dojo muttered as he started writing a note while Omi opened the trapdoor.

When the sun finally shone on the Shaolin Monastery, the two visitors were long gone.

 


	5. Bait and Switch

Omi slept for most of the morning, because that's what usually happens to people who stay up all night. The next time he regained consciousness, he saw the afternoon sky framed by the barren branches of a tree.

He was no stranger to the cold, but he wasn't quite dressed for snow. The air here stung in comparison to the air at the monastery. At least Dojo had cleared away the snow around them, and Omi could see him just a few feet away near a small fire that was running on small twigs and dead pine needles. The dragon's back was facing him, but it was much too thin to hide the maps that he perused. Omi crawled closer to the fire, which was barely wider than his palm, and started rubbing his chapped hands over it. He didn't bother to peer over Dojo's shoulder. There was barely a shoulder to peer over.

"｢Morning,｣" Dojo said, a statement rather than a greeting. He didn't spare a glance.

"｢Where are we?｣" Omi asked, looking around and blinking in the glare of reflected light. Dojo had landed right nearby a copse in the middle of the grasslands, though at this time of year there wasn't much grass to be seen. The smoke twisted in the air and Omi watched it reach for open sky. It could probably be seen for miles, especially in such an open place like this, if it weren't for the fact that such a small amount of smoke didn't show up well in daytime. Still, Omi couldn't help but look out for approaching figures because you never know when someone might be ridiculously attracted to the smell of burning pine.

Dojo tapped a claw lightly on the modern map. "｢Right about the northern border, bucko.｣" Leaning his elbow in the Aegean Sea, he looked up and added, "｢How're you feeling? Hungry?｣"

At this, Omi wrapped his arms around his stomach, acutely aware of the absence of both a breakfast and a lunch. Dojo's gaze turned soft.

"｢We could always go back.｣"

"｢Never mind that,｣" Omi snapped, pulling closer to the map. "｢Where are we going?｣"

Dojo shrugged as he moved aside so that he was not in the way. "｢I'm not the one with the plan. Where do  _you_  think we should go?｣"

There was a moment, just a short moment, when the snowy grasslands seemed to stretch on forever, pure, blinding snow as endless as the desert, much too big for the world. For some reason, he felt as though he would simply slide off into space. He felt his knees buckle even though he wasn't standing, but sitting was worse because that just meant that he wasn't  _moving_ and didn't intend to in the near future and that was bad because…

"｢Are there any more Shen Gong Wu hidden in China?｣" Omi suddenly asked, focusing his concentration on each word.

Dojo curled up over the older map and tugged on his beard. "｢Lessee…I  _think_  me and Dashi hid one somewhere about… _here,_ ｣" he said, pointing at a discolored bit of paper that vaguely may have resembled a continent. Omi peered at it as one might peer at a Rorschach blot.

"｢Dojo…I cannot even tell if that is still China.｣"

If it wasn't for his diminutive size, the dragon would have pointedly snapped the slightly moldy paper in front of his face. As it was, he settled for sniffing derisively. "｢This was a  _perfectly_  good map back in the fifteenth century!｣"

Omi paused to vent his sigh through a discreet eye roll. "｢Can you please point it out on  _this_  map?｣"

Pressing his snout against one map and then the other, like he was snuffling out the location, Dojo finally jabbed a finger proudly somewhere to the west of their current location. "｢Here we go! Looks like now it's called…the Gobi Desert?｣"

"｢Then let us depart at once,｣" Omi said, jumping to his feet and getting dizzy in the process. The thought of deserts only made his stomach seem all the more barren, but at the same time it sounded better than the snow. Dojo stayed smaller than flying size, however, and seemed intent on tangling up his claws.

"｢Really?  _Now?_ ｣"

"｢That  _is_  what 'at once' typically means,｣" Omi replied, scuffing some snow over the fire. "｢Is there a problem?｣"

"｢ _Yeah,_ ｣" Dojo nearly shouted as he moved in front of the fire too late to save it. "｢It's a  _desert._  We aren't exactly  _ready_  to just go tromping around in there!｣"

"｢But the more time we waste, the more likely that we will be beaten to it,｣" Omi shot back. "｢How many Shen Gong Wu does the Heylin side have?｣"

"｢Well, ah,｣" Dojo said, sounding somewhat far away as he silently counting eight of his fingers.

"｢And the only one  _we_  have is the Crouching Cougar! Which, as I am  _sure_  you realize, is not much use against something such as, for example,  _the Golden Tiger Claws!_ ｣"

Dojo responded by massaging his forehead and growling out a sigh. "｢Okay, you've made your point,｣" he said, finally growing to flying size. As soon as Omi gathered up the maps, after fumbling with them twice, the two were off again through the sky, speeding across the lonely white expanse towards distant mountains.

Despite the chilly wind that pushed into his eyes and nipped at his cheeks, Omi pulled himself besides Dojo's ear. "｢We should also start thinking of where we ought to go next.｣"

"｢Save it 'til  _after_  we land,｣" Dojo shouted back above the roar of the winter wind as they sailed over a mountain range. With a yelp, he twisted away from the whipping tendrils of a blizzard that had blindsided him, throwing fat flakes of snow in his eyes. He spun around a mountaintop, rubbing his eyes, and then continued on a wide path that avoided particularly cold-looking clouds. Omi just tried to hold on as tight as he could, which he was finding harder than usual, as though Dojo's scales had simply turned to ice somewhere a few miles back.

"｢Sorry 'bout that,｣" Dojo called back, hastily shaking some snow off his head as the temperature dropped another ten degrees. "｢I think we're here now. I'm gonna go ahead and dive down to see if I recognize anything, is that okay?｣"

Omi blinked, rubbed his watering eyes, and stared down at the painfully bright snowfield beneath. "｢This does not look at all like a desert.｣"

"｢We're up north! In  _winter_! What do you want from me?｣" Dojo snapped as he circled down, seeing no other storms nearby. Nevertheless, a harsh wind saw fit to blow against them. Omi flinched, but his skin seemed to burn in response rather than shiver. "｢Are you okay back there?｣"

"｢Yes,｣" Omi replied before the question mark was fully formed. Dojo frowned, unintentionally baring his teeth in distaste.

"｢Look, don't lie to me. If you're feeling cold…｣"

"｢I'm not,｣" said Omi, and it surprised him to realize that it was true. The tips of his fingers, wrapped around the fluttering papers, were grotesquely warm, so warm that they seemed to have solidified into something other than flesh. Even though he could clearly see them, his fingers felt like they were miles away and were also perhaps not fingers at all. He was so warm it was almost suffocating, even, with the blood running thick behind his face weighing down his eyes and drowning out his ears. There was steam still coming out of his mouth, as though there was fire seated in his stomach, so that must have meant that he was saying something. Or was he just breathing?

Omi realized a second later that his eyes had shut, and then a second after that,

* * *

he woke up in an unfamiliar room that smelled of new paint and animal hide. The animal hide smell, he realized, was coming from him – rather, the hides that were piled on top of him. He found himself on a soft structure that seemed to have the function of a sleeping mat, but it was elevated by a wooden frame. There was another stacked above and from the way that the boards bent in the middle, it appeared that someone was currently occupying that one as well. Before he could even think of sitting up, Dojo's thin face appeared, pressing against his own.

"｢ _Hypothermia!_  Why didn't you  _tell_  me?｣" he hissed, though he certainly made it sound like a roar given how close he was. "｢You're lucky I found a place that's in the habit of taking  _stupid_ , cold monks in!｣"

Omi's fingers were still quite swollen, but they didn't feel so distant anymore. They simply felt uncomfortable. He sat up with some difficulty, pushing against the weight of fur until he could shove it off completely, forcing Dojo to abandon his shaming stare and jump away before he could be shoved off with everything else.

"｢Where,｣" Omi managed in a voice that did not quite sound like his before sneezing so hard that he was afraid he had stripped the walls of his throat.

"｢Russia, in Kazan, I think, some real crazy temple place,｣" Dojo replied, trying to drag the hides back up onto the bed. "｢Look, I  _know_  you aren't gonna like the idea of touching these pelts, but you are  _not_  going cold again - ｣"

Omi swung his legs to the floor, giving the room only the most cursory of glances. "｢I assume you could not find what we were looking for. Did they place our items somewhere else?｣"

"｢Oh  _no you don't!_ ｣" Dojo screeched, leaping straight into Omi's chest. The boy fell over more out of surprise than anything else, considering that Dojo probably did not weigh much more than a small pouch of grain. "｢ _You_  are gonna listen to  _me_  for once and  _stay in bed!_ ｣"

"｢But - ｣"

"｢I  _refuse!_  To listen to your stupid logic! Anymore!｣" With practically Herculean might, Dojo managed to throw Omi's legs back into bed and push his head back on the pillow. "｢Like, alright, I get it, you've got these perfectly logical –  _stay still! –_  reasons, but if you just keep throwing yourself  _mindlessly_  out there, you're gonna  _die_  like an  _idiot!_ And you know something,  _I_ was an idiot for letting this happen!｣"

Without particularly knowing why, Omi shot back, ignoring how uncomfortably hot his breath felt in his mouth and against his teeth, "｢Grandmaster Dashi was able to travel the world without any trouble!｣"

"｢ _You aren't Dashi!_ ｣"

The explosive force behind that statement was enough to silence a bomb. Dojo sat above Omi, breathing heavily until he found enough air in his lungs to continue. "｢I mean…you…you're just a…｣"

The two of them knew, of course, that shouting tends to make a lot of noise. And furthermore, they knew that noise tends to wake the sleeping. But they had forgotten that there was a person right above them who was sleeping – or at least used to. A reminder came crashing down on both of their heads in the form of half-yawned words. " _Quel est ce bruit? Avez-vous enfin réveiller?_ "

Quick as though he had been greased, Dojo shot into Omi's sleeve before a head peered from the top bunk and squinted curiously at Omi.

" _Le mystérieux garçon se réveille! Vous ne parlez pas français, pensez-vous?_ "

The wave of what Omi supposed were words flooded his face and he completely forgot about sitting up again so that he just stared at the foreign boy above him. Only when Dojo jabbed an elbow into his did he manage to squeak out, much higher than he would have liked, "En-English?"

"Ah,  _oui!_  I mean yes," the boy hastily added, hopping down from the top bunk and feeling his way to a side table. As Omi tracked him across the dim room, he noticed that his things had been placed behind a pair of glasses that the boy now set in front of his wide eyes, which grew owlishly wider behind the lens. He reached over beside the door and pushed a slider upwards, turning evening into day again. Omi's eyes flitted to the light fixture above, which he found was a bad idea as he winced and rubbed at the headache behind his eyes. The boy bounded back to the side of his bed, casting a strangely happy shadow. "I am called Boris. You are?"

The chill was starting to seep in Omi's bones again, numbing him to his toes. It was probably not so great an idea to toss down all those pelts that Boris was now standing on. But he could still feel Dojo and his righteous presence curled up in his sleeve, so he said, "I am Omi."

"You are very looky, ees what you are!" Upon seeing Omi's baffled expression, Boris backtracked a bit. "Loo – luuhh…luhh-cky. Lucky. Pardon me."

"Um, I see," said Omi, eyeing Boris' shaved head. "Boris is a name for the man?" The weight of all those years he had spent not practicing English suddenly made itself known to Omi. The thick, slurring manner in which Boris mangled his English wasn't helping too much either, and so Omi tried to defend himself against that acidic accent by mentally reviewing all those lessons about articles and verb tenses and plurals.

"Yes, Boris ees a name for boys," the bespectacled boy replied right as Dojo breathed something near Omi's shoulder that could have been something like 'Why would you even  _ask_.' Whatever the dragon thought, at least that question was settled. "'ow deed you get here? Very uncommon to see  _chinois_  around zis part, as I've been told! Ees ze leezard we found wiz you yours?"

Omi couldn't see the expression on Dojo's face, but he could recognize it regardless and clamped his hand around his sleeve so that the only sound that came out was a very indignant squeak. Boris did not comment on the odd way Omi was pushing himself up by his elbow while holding his wrist very tightly. Instead, he said, "Where deed eet go, do you know? I would like to take a closer look, you see."

"Excuse me, but where am I?" Omi blurted out, leaning his arm on the bed's frame as his sleeve took a strangely violent behavior. "This is another monastery?"

Boris looked down at his brown robes and chuckled, holding the ends and rubbing them between his fingers. "Ah, you are correct, alzough I am just a veesitor. From France, you know? You are in ze Tempool of All Releeshon." A frown flitted across his face. "Re-li-gee-ons."

"Mm," said Omi, struggling to hold his arm stiff at his side even though it was currently punching him in the ribs. While this was understandably distracting, honestly the only accent he ever had to deal with was the accent that Master Fung had. This one was making him dizzy. With another squeeze of his arm, Dojo finally calmed down, or at least got too exhausted to really do much anymore. "France is long way from Russia," he commented, before hissing through his teeth as though he had scalded himself. He forgot about articles  _again._

"Zat ees true," Boris replied, his eager smile turning into something more subdued as he folded his arms behind his back. "I have an eemportont zhob. Zere ees somesing I need to keep safe, you see, so I had to go away."

Omi's head instinctively bowed, and he watched as his feet scuffed the fur on the floor. "I believe I am at your position as well."

Silence roosted on the rafters, with a seemingly physical weight that forced the wood to creak. In front of him, Boris shifted from foot to foot under his robes. "Well, when everysing ees all good and safe again, zen I know someone weel come and get me. You too, I'm shoor!"

"Um," said Omi.

"You are 'oongry, no?"

Omi's brow furrowed so much that it practically twisted itself into a knot. "…'Angry?'"

"No, no, hoon – 'uhngry…huhn-guh-ry."

" _Yes,_ " Dojo hissed from his shoulder. Omi didn't really get a chance to repeat him as Boris had already pulled him to his feet and threw one of the discarded furs over him so that he had to hunch to stay upright. Even with this disadvantage, Omi noticed that he stood taller than Boris, an occurrence so rare that he almost wondered if he was having a feverish hallucination.

"Zere ees perhaps someone who weel cook somesing een ze keeshen for you, I'm shoor! And Brother Khanov I sink ees eenterested to talk to you! He recognized ze," and even though he was tugging him down gaudy hallways and wooden floors, Boris found the time to poke little dots on his forehead.

Omi, weighed down by the pelt of probably a bear and trying not to trip, could only spare the brainpower to ponder 'keeshen.'

* * *

The Temple of All Religions was odd, and the odd thing was it was only odd because it highlighted all the things that Omi had never thought of before and so he struggled to put into words what was so odd about it in the first place. The men that greeted him (and they were all men, with great thick beards that were like untrimmed forests rather than the cultivated gardens he was used to) were dressed in black robes that were so thick that looking at them made him want to cough. Besides Boris, there were no children, making the gathering of monks somehow joyless despite the brightly painted walls. It was probably unfair of him to describe the temple like this, considering the warm camaraderie among the men, but there were too many gaps for him to cross, in age and in race, that whatever good cheer there was in the air failed to permeate his skin.

Brother Khanov was the oldest of all, and he was not actually a Brother. "I'm just artist," he said, his mouth trying out a smile, but the way the remnants of his hair framed his head and the way age had seemed to stretch his skin too thin made it more like a grimace than anything else.

Another man poured more tea in Omi's cup. "Don't listen. He is philanthropist, very good. Yeah?"

'Philanthropist' was a mountain of a word that Omi had never even encountered before, but the steam from the kitchen was heaven to his nose and the fumes from the tea was unsticking his throat, so he only nodded.

Artist-Philanthropist-Not-Brother Khanov grunted and shot back, " _My ne dolzhny dazhe byt' sokhraneniye etikh detey zdes'! Oni dolzhny obrashchat'sya k vlastyam. YA ne postroit' priyut!_ "

Another bearded man made a sound halfway between a grunt and a sigh and then spat on the floor. " _Detskiye doma prednaznacheny dlyaotkazalis'!_ Not abandoned, eh? Right?" The laugh that the man then cackled as he rubbed and slapped both Omi and Boris' back was boisterous to the point of threatening. The laugh alone could have made a sober man drunk. Both of the boys just nodded, Boris folding his hands on the table while Omi clutched his cup with one hand and the table with another. Dojo just tried to be as lizard-y as possible, if lizards were fond of flitting out of sleeves in order to stuff their mouths and then zip back out of sight.

The cabbage soup seemed bottomless, and whatever spices they had put in it curdled the hair in his nose and beat back the cold with wild fists. He would have fallen asleep again, with his stomach bulging to the brink with soup and heat, if he wasn't bordering on terrified with the way these men walked and talked in their throaty language before sometimes spitting for what seemed to be no reason at all. Staring at their beards rather than their faces helped a bit because then he could imagine that he was surrounded by strange talking trees instead. Which actually wasn't so calming when he thought about it, so he didn't think about it.

This method didn't work so well on Not-Brother Khanov, who was the one without a beard. And unfortunately, he was the one who wanted to talk to him the most.

"Boodist, yes?" said the old turtle of a man, tapping his own forehead roughly with a smile. Omi set a hand over his  _Jieba_  and stiffly nodded. "No Boodist done yet. Only Islam and Jewish and church. Boodist is soon."

Omi just nodded again until the meaning of the statement caught up with him. As the spices in the soup doggedly tried to turn his nose hair inside-out, he meekly said, "May I see?"

With startling alacrity, someone broke out a child-size winter outfit with a hat and scarf and everything, as though the entire room had been waiting for him to ask this one question. Every man in the room was chattering over each other now, sometimes in Russian, sometimes in English, as they practically tackled him with warm clothes. Somewhere in the chaos, Omi could see Boris sidle away and come back with his own outfit and a grin that he couldn't help but describe as treasonous. While everybody pushed him outside and wheeled him through the snow to a domed building decorated with scaffolding, it took great self-control for Omi to not break into a run the first chance he got.

And in the end, all this excitement was for a half-finished building.

"Look better when done," said one man, setting a hand on Omi's hat and pushing it down past his eyes. The other men murmured vague sounds of agreement and pointed out various aspects that he assumed they had worked on. Boris, standing beside and below Omi, was in the perfect position to see his expression and so took his hand and led him through the doorless entrance, into the immaculately bare interior.

There was a place set up for a Buddha statue, and Omi knelt in front of it despite the absence of a statue, of incense, of anything needed for the ritualistic prayer.

It was the absence that got to him, eventually. There had been too much absence in his life as of late, but this was something more symbolic. When was the next time he would happen upon another temple? When was the next time he would be able to light incense? Hold rosary beads? Even simply kneel here, as he was doing now in this husk of a temple?

If it was dangerous to step into such an unfinished building, none of the men outside said anything. Only one asked, as he stepped out, "Good?"

Omi flashed a faint smile at their beards and nodded.

* * *

"Bad?" Boris said once Omi had been hastily bundled back into bed. He had apparently inherited the habit of unhelpful, monosyllabic sentences from the brief encounter with the Russian men. At this point, Boris was starting to anticipate Omi's quizzical looks and so he clarified, "Your…posision. Eet ees very bad?"

The weight of Dojo curled up around his arm meant that this wasn't as private a conversation as Boris no doubt thought it was, and Omi tried to review his words in his mind but it was already heavy with other things that he wished he could just let go.

And he realized he could.

Staring at the bed above, he said, "I no longer have a home." Somewhere next to him, he could hear Boris dragging a chair closer to his bedside. The wood sighed as he settled in it and he sighed along with it. His voice was starting to rasp against his throat as it clenched against his own will and forced tears in his eyes. Omi took a moment to blink them away. "I…miss my family. Dojo is the one that is left and…I feel very alone and I am  _scared,_ " he babbled, his voice picking up speed. "And I must get better soon so I may be fit to travel again but the world is very  _big_  and I do not know who to  _trust,_  I have enemies but I do not know how they appear and…and I do not want to…but…but it is my duty and I am  _aware_  of it so I  _have_ to, so why can I not think the way I  _should_!"

He took another deep, rattling breath that felt like fire. Around his arm, he suddenly felt a serpentine grip tighten. Boris sat straight, hands squeezing his knees as he kicked listlessly in the air.

"But…you trust me…right?"

There was no easy way to answer. Omi was taught that sometimes the best answer is silence, and this seemed like such a time. Boris continued kicking his feet and straightened his glasses as he stared up at the ceiling.

"Well…peopool can be scared. I get scared many times before coming here. Only doing what needs to be doing matters, no?"

"No. Not for me." Omi tried to turn away but found it hard with the heavy quilt on top of him. He had been tucked away quite neatly, almost to the point where it was hard to breathe, and it was really hampering his movement. He settled for trying to nestle further under the quilt so that his face was half-buried by his crossed arms. "This is my whole life. All of my training leads here. I  _cannot_  be scared because…then he has wasted his time on me all along," he mumbled.

"Per'aps eet would be better to sleep on zis?"

Another night of doing nothing. He couldn't even get one Shen Gong Wu today. He even had a whole lot of doing nothing to do in the future, judging by how he just wouldn't get better faster like he should. Omi felt like throwing up, which was a dangerously literal statement.

Boris, seeing his expression, hunched in his seat and just squeezed his knees tighter until he brightened up, bringing his hands excitedly to his face. " _Idée!_ " Swinging his legs so that he leapt right off the chair, Boris brought himself closer to Omi's face with a worryingly conspiratorial grin.

"Zis ees very secret. Very hush." Despite himself, Omi actually leaned in closer as Boris whispered. He could even feel Dojo's ears perk up inside his sleeve. "Ze reason I had to leave, you see, was because ze…ah,  _évêque_  foretold deesaster. I was told to take ze geeft of God and  _roon away_ ," Boris whispered, eyes wide, waggling two fingers downward in case Omi had forgotten what running looked like. "Een tough times, ze geeft weel help, you see? But…you are not…zis ees not  _ushally_  allowed, but ze geeft ees for anybody een need."

With a firm nod that seemed to convince himself more than anything, Boris reached into the collar of his robes, twisting his arm in ways that were probably not legal. "Eet weel show you, everysing weel be turning out good for you!" What Boris pulled out of his robes was thrust towards Omi with such speed that his eyes blurred and he was unable to see it clearly. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but what he certainly had not expected was for Dojo to practically rip his way out of his sleeve as he leapt out, almost hitting his head on the top bunk, shouting " _The Crystal Glasses!_ "

The gift of God bounced on Omi's covers and landed quite softly.

A moment later, Boris' head had a bit of a rougher landing on the corner of his chair, and he collapsed.

Both Omi and Dojo froze in their respective positions and just stared dumbly at the scene in front of them.

 


	6. Future Imperfect

"｢B-but how is it possible? How is it  _here?_ ｣" Omi's hands shook as they circled around the Crystal Glasses as though they had never handled a pair before. Which was true, actually, Omi had never handled a pair of glasses. He had seen his elders do so, but those were small, round little things that pinched their noses and once when Omi saw one take them off to rub at that place between the eyes, he asked outright why he even wore them in the first place if it caused him such agitation and the subsequent knowledge that different people literally had a different way of seeing the world was just completely mind-boggling that he still didn't quite have the concept grasped in his head. He spent the next few days trailing behind Master Gao and pointing out the leaves of faraway trees and the curves of blades of grass and asking whether he could see them. Now that he thought about it, he wished he'd done something else at the time, something that wasn't so…childish.

The Crystal Glasses were nothing like Master Gao's and certainly nothing like Boris', with their faceted lens and carefully cut frame. They certainly looked as mystical as he had imagined. The frame itself seemed to steam with powers unknown that sparked at his fingertips.

Omi snapped his head back towards Dojo, who had leapt down and was now looking over Boris very carefully. "He's unconscious," the dragon explained, his brain having not quite made the jump from English back to Chinese yet, "but I think he's okay. If he doesn't wake up soon though, then we've got trouble." Dojo struggled to turn the boy on his side and carefully tilted his head back.

"｢This is most serendipitous! Dojo, do you realize what we can do – ｣"

" _Omi!_ "

Dojo had not grown larger than his diminutive size, but Omi shrank back regardless, eyes pinning themselves to his quilt. Dojo let out a slow sigh through his teeth and kneaded his brow as he searched for Boris' pulse. "This isn't – ｢there's something more pressing to think about.｣"

Omi fiddled with the stems of the glasses. "｢Um…do you need help…?｣"

"｢No,｣" said Dojo, turning away so that Omi could no longer see his face. "｢Just…stay in bed. Test out those Crystal Glasses, if you really want to.｣"

Omi hesitated. There was something in the tone of Dojo's voice that felt like an answer key to some sort of exam. And that following what he said would be the wrong choice. But having aired out so many of his doubts so recently, how could he not take this opportunity? As he slid the glasses over his eyes, he could hear a soft sigh from Dojo right before light filled his sight and faded away to reveal

_a place where he was not. But there he was, standing in the middle of a dark warehouse. Out the high windows he could see neon lights flashing in the night. The ceiling held up chains that held up boxes. The floor was strewn with broken wood and the prone bodies of startlingly familiar men. There was a startlingly unfamiliar boy standing by him, he realized, taller, older, and from his stance Omi could see he was an ally he hadn't met yet. They were both staring frozen up, up, up to a catwalk, up at a figure with one of those terrible weapons. He saw himself staring down the barrel of it, a sight more uncomfortable when he could actually see how uncomfortable it made him, and beyond the barrel was the face of a man…that man…the man who…_

Omi almost threw the Crystal Glasses across the room. He settled for letting them fall back in his lap. Dojo snapped his head back towards him and, hearing his clammy, labored breathing, started peering at his face.

"｢I know who destroyed our temple.｣"

Dojo's eyes narrowed rather than widened, and his mouth curled into a skeptical grimace. "｢Oh, really?｣" he said out of politeness.

"｢Well…I know what he looks like,｣" Omi clarified, his heart slowing enough for him to feel sheepish about how loud it was pounding. He crossed his legs under the quilt and kept his eyes open. Closing them would be no good. Closing them would mean sinking back into the warehouse and the weapon and  _that man._  "｢A little. It was somewhat hard to see.｣"

Dojo checked Boris' breathing again. "｢So…what did you see?｣"

Omi felt himself drown in air. He clenched his fists in case they were shaking. "｢He seemed somewhat stout…his face was very dark, and he had shifty eyes. His hair seemed rather odd.｣"

"｢Like how?｣"

"｢Well…they were…｣" At a loss, Omi cupped his hands on either side of his head.

Dojo wrinkled his snout. "｢ _Pigtails?_ ｣"

"｢Um,｣" said Omi, his hands still raised to his head, and Dojo suddenly realized the foolishness of using hairstyle terminology around a boy who religiously shaved his head.

"｢Forget it,｣" he said, waving a clawed hand before checking on Boris' pulse. The tiny boy was still limp, but seemed to be stable enough.

Omi clasped his hands together over his lap and let out a loud breath. "｢I…also saw another person. With us.｣"

Dojo glanced back. "｢Boris?｣"

"｢What?  _No!_ ｣" Omi said, his brow forming a furrow deep enough to plant seeds into. "｢Why would  _he_ be with us?｣"

Scowling, Dojo laid his arms firmly akimbo like an upside-down gunshow. "｢Oh, I didn't realize that was such a  _distasteful_  idea,｣" he spat. "｢I mean, he  _is_ the one who's guarding the Crystal Glasses. So I figure it'd just be nice if we, y'know, took him along?｣"

"｢He is a  _child!_ _｣_ "

"｢ _You're_ a child too!｣"

"｢But I am still older than  _him,_  not to mention I  _very_  much doubt that he has trained for this sort of journey! Does he even have any ability to  _fight?_ ｣"

"｢ _It's not about whether he'd be useful!_ _｣_ " Dojo hissed, strangling the air before moving in closer to Omi's face. "｢It's about – he's – what are you planning to do if he doesn't just give them to you?!｣"

Omi was silent.

Dojo's expression slowly shifted from righteous fury to something more tragic. "｢You…｣"

It was at this point that Boris groaned and lolled his head into a position commonly known as upright. Dojo zipped back to his side, his maw firing off a bunch of incoherent questions. " _Comment est votre tête? Est-ce que ça fait mal quelque part? Pensez-vous que vous avez l'amnésie? Combien de doigts que je tiens le coup?"_

Boris' response was to immediately focus, his already magnified eyes growing larger behind his glasses. " _Les pourparlers de lézard._ "

" _Tout d'abord, je suis un dragon,_ " Dojo said as he twisted and wound himself around his arms and above his head, poking at his pate and examining his eyes. " _Deuxièmement_ – "

He froze in the middle of raising Boris' glasses out of the way, his eyes widening to match the boy's expression. In an instant, he was gone, and it took Omi a few seconds for his mind to register the familiar weight in his sleeve again.

Still sitting on the floor, Boris raised a finger towards Omi though neither were particularly sure where he was pointing. "Your leezard talked," he said by way of explanation.

"No I didn't," said Omi's sleeve, mysteriously clutching itself closed.

"He is a dragon," Omi blurted out in a panic before he could even consider whether it was worth it to keep up the charade of normalcy. In response, Dojo poked his head out again and glared at Omi's sheepish grimace.

"Nice cover."

" _You_  were the one who spoke to him," the young Buddhist muttered back.

Boris, in the meantime, had shifted to kneeling and, judging by the way his eyes shone and how he wasn't running out the door screaming, seemed to be taking in the situation with some enthusiasm.

" _Un dragon? Je n'ai jamais vu un dragon avant! Combien de dragons sont là? Comment savez-vous français? Vous parlez si bien!_ "

Dojo leaned back on Omi's arm, apparently resigned with his broken secrets. Either that or he was feeling something else entirely, judging by the way he twirled his beard and curled his mouth. " _J'ai beaucoup voyagé retour dans la journée. Dois-je parle vraiment bien? J'ai pensé que mon vocabulaire serait dépassée._ "

" _Non, non, vous parlez_ parfaitement _!_ "

"Excuse me," Omi piped up, and both of them straightened in a flinch.

"Ah, pardon, I deed not mean – "

"It is alright. But now that you know," Omi said, picking up the Crystal Glasses again with minimal shaking, "I should tell you that my quest is to gather mystical objects called Shen Gong Wu and – "

" –  _and,_ " Dojo cut in, straightening himself so that he moved right in front of Omi's face, "we think that your gift of God could help us out a lot, if you'd let us?" His sharp grin stretched wide but was not quite able to cover up Omi's deep scowl. Boris seemed to not notice.

"What are you gazzering zese 'Shen Gong Wu' for, eef I may ask?"

Omi set a hand on Dojo's head and pushed him down like an accordion. "It involves the fate of the world," he said with the tone of someone explaining a particularly simple math problem. This also seemed to slide right over Boris' shaved head. "It is necessary to get  _all_  of them." The glare that he shared with Dojo was short, but still felt explosive. The colliding punch of tension in the air was strong enough to get drunk off of.

"Ooh, you are like sooperheroes, zen!" Boris gushed, bringing his hands to his face so that they covered up his beaming smile. "I would be 'appy to asseest!"

"Great!" Dojo said, a genuine smile spreading down his snout. From Omi's angle, there was a touch of smugness at the edges. Snatching the Crystal Glasses off of Omi's bed covers, Dojo glided through the air and managed to land on the far desk. Despite his small arm span, he was able to unroll two maps at once, as well as the rather clunky scroll, one end sliding off and bouncing dully. Omi craned his neck to watch as Boris followed the dragon, stepping around increasingly growing piles of paper as he adjusted his glasses.

"So this scroll lists all the Shen Gong Wu, and  _this_ map is the most recent world map, and these marks are where I remember hiding them long ago, except they might not even be there anymore since I did that  _eons_  ago, so we need to figure out where they'll  _be_  when we find them. Actually, hm," Dojo added, tugging at his beard as he pouted at the map. "We could use some bigger maps. Maybe like...maps of each country. With all the cities and stuff."

"I shall ask for per'aps an atlas," Boris replied even though he was already halfway out the door, and Dojo curled up on the table to wait. Omi took this chance to get out of bed and approach him.

He wasn't as stealthy as he could have been, and Dojo immediately turned towards the movement and narrowed his eyes. " _You_ can just go right to bed, buster."

"｢I fully intend to after we talk.｣"

At this, Dojo's glare weakened and he tilted his head downward, not even making eye contact as Omi leaned on the table. "｢Look, I don't really want to talk about this anymore. Besides, he  _wants_  to help already, right? I mean – ｣"

"｢No, not about that,｣" said Omi, feeling as though he was holding his breath as he spoke the words. "｢I just wished to point out that you should make sure to deduce the location of that Shen Gong Wu in the Gobi Desert so that we may retrieve it quickly when we go get it.｣"

Dojo's ears rose like red flags and he was back to narrow glares and authoritative tones. "｢You aren't thinking of going out there  _again_ , when you're still sick?｣"

"｢No,｣" Omi said very much like the way he talked to Boris. "｢I am thinking of going out there again when I am all better. And I believe that I will be better tomorrow.｣"

"｢Oh, really.｣"

Omi's hand shot out and snagged the Crystal Glasses. They glowed as soon as they settled over his eyes, and after a few seconds, he set them back down. "｢Well, now I  _know_ I will be better tomorrow.｣"

"｢What? Let me see!｣" Dojo snapped the glasses on. They were hilariously oversized for him, which meant that he had to hold it up so it could stay balanced on his snout. They still worked fine in proving Omi's point, however, and Dojo heaved the Crystal Glasses off, his mouth cocked halfway between a grimace and a stern point. "｢You still need your rest,｣" he said, salvaging whatever authority was left.

Omi walked back without a word, because although he did check to see whether he'd be better tomorrow, he had also checked something else.

The door opened once more and Omi made a point to turn over and throw the quilt over his head. Outside the plush sanctuary, he could hear rustling papers and French mutters, once in a while the scratching of a pencil and sometimes what sounded like a hushed debate over whether the landscape they saw was in the Philippines or the Congo.

Omi didn't listen, didn't want to listen, because even just listening to Boris' voice might make him used to his presence. Something he knew for sure was just temporary.

* * *

Deliberately ignoring two people in the same room was strangely taxing, but Omi blinked awake and realized it was already tomorrow. It felt strange to feel so well-rested when the transition between last night and now was seamless. Like, instead of hours passing outside of his consciousness, someone had just flipped a switch that invigorated him.

The slatted window above let in lazy, gray sunlight and the bed above him was noticeably unbent. Omi sat up and tried to take in a breath. His nose was still a bit runny, but it was barely a jog. His throat had opened up again, which was really more important. He'd just have to avoid sniffling too much, in case Dojo tried to stop him. Destiny said that he wouldn't, but it would be better to move destiny along as fast as possible.

Someone had left a bowl of soup on the table, probably for him, but the contents were lukewarm at best by this point. He still downed it in a gulp.

Dojo was lying sprawled over a mess of papers that appeared to be several detailed drawings of overhead views of jungles, cities, deserts, mountain ranges, a variety of places that he had never seen before and possibly had never heard of. When Omi poked Dojo awake, the dragon shot straight up with a snort, blinking his eyes in a stagger, a clear imprint of the drawings on the side of his face.

"｢Oh, you're awake,｣" Dojo said in a strange, elongated yawn. "｢Good morning.｣"

"｢It is afternoon.｣"

Dojo peered at the window and realized he didn't quite have x-ray vision. "｢If you say so.｣"

Omi scratched at his cheek and twisted his neck around to peer at a map decorated with red X's. "｢How much have you progressed?｣"

"｢We've managed to pinpoint...like twenty or something...?｣" Dojo replied, rubbing at his own face. "｢That's not bad, it's about a fifth of the way through. Hungry?｣"

"｢I have eaten already,｣" Omi said, which was technically true, "｢so we can leave now. Where are the Crystal Glasses?｣"

"｢Probably with the guy guarding them?｣" Dojo said as he stretched, contorting his body into a large arch. "｢We're gonna have to wait for him anyways. He's bringing your clothes.｣"

Omi glanced down at the robes that he had never stopped wearing, then looked back up. "｢What?｣"

In a stroke of coincidental timing that would have made any playwright proud, Boris strode in under a load of thick winter clothing. " _Je suis retourné!_ Oh, woonderfool, you are awake again!"

Omi took one look at the lump of padded clothes and turned back to Dojo. "｢You wanted me to wait for a jacket.｣" Beside him, Boris' smile turned strained as he tried to figure out what he was saying.

"｢You need one,｣" was all Dojo said, still in the middle of stretching, holding his arms behind his back and leaning slightly backwards.

"｢My robes are good enough.｣"

"｢Past experience suggest otherwise. I ain't flying anywhere unless you're dressed for the weather.｣"

Omi crossed his arms in a huff, then swiftly pinned them to his sides in case he looked like he was shivering, then huffed again for good measure. "｢ _Fine._  But can I at least not wear the snow pants?｣"

"｢They'll make your legs warm,｣" Dojo protested, gesturing in Boris' general direction. The boy flinched in response and started to look down at the floor.

"｢I will not be able to properly fight with so many layers,｣" Omi shot back while he snagged a puffy, blue jacket from the pile in Boris' hands. "｢This is good enough! It will still restrain my arms, but at least I'll have my  _legs_  free!｣"

Dojo's only response was to sigh and scowl, because he wasn't about to resign  _completely._  "｢ _And_  hat and mittens,｣" he said, channeling the expert barterers of yore.

Omi snorted, but complied. It turned out his throat was not in as good condition as he thought, so it was probably best to avoid future acts of respiratory-based derision. For his own comfort. It was when he grabbed a red plaid hat with fluffy flaps down the side that he finally noticed something odd about the pile that Boris was holding.

"Why are there two jackets?" he asked directly.

At this, Dojo suddenly curled up and hopped over on Omi's head to get a better vantage point. Boris couldn't look further down at the ground than he was already, so he hunched his shoulders. "You see...I sought zat...maybe I could...coom wiz you...but..."

"Of course!" Dojo said before Omi could even open his mouth. The monk ended up having to fume in silence. How could Dojo get so attached so quickly? The kid was a  _stranger_.

" _Nous ne parlions pas de vous,_ " he heard Dojo add rather hastily. " _Nous avions un argument vraiment stupide à autre chose._ " Whatever he said was met with little reaction from Boris other than a slight nod that hid his face.

Boris didn't make much noise as he led them outside to an area between the outer walls and one of the colorfully-domed buildings, but when Dojo shifted to flying size, his eyes grew proportionally and he couldn't help but let out an impressed squeak. It was hard to miss, so Dojo in turn couldn't help but start preening.

Omi jumped up to his back easily and looked down at Boris, who was still gaping. "You  _do_  wish to join us, correct?" he said with a tone that slapped Boris out of his dragon-related reverie.

"Ah, yes," he replied hastily, beginning to scrabble up Dojo's side. But not only was he unused to riding dragons, Boris was slightly disadvantaged due to the tote bag weighed down with an atlas and several maps. Omi didn't even bother to hold in his sigh as Dojo lowered a hand to help Boris up instead.

"Everybody holding on tight?" Dojo asked as his arms tensed against the ground. "I'm gonna go straight up for a while so people won't see us maybe."

After Boris moved his bag between him and Dojo's back and dug his fingers into the dragon's scales, he nodded a confirmation and they instantly shot upwards, like a firework. They were much longer-lived than a firework, even if Boris' yelps implied otherwise, and as soon as they reached a reasonable height, Dojo leveled off and pointed himself south.

It was an impressive feat, considering that Omi knew Dojo had often complained about the strain of flying on his bones and preferred to ascend in lazy spirals so that he wasn't constantly fighting against air resistance. He shot a scowl down at Boris, but with the speeds they were achieving, nobody noticed, not even Omi himself. It seemed much wiser to focus on not peeling off like discarded skin cells.

* * *

"Which one is it?" Omi finally thought to ask once Dojo started to descend, much slower than his ascent. The Gobi Desert proved as welcoming as it had been their last visit, though at least they had managed to avoid strong winds for now. Omi's legs were freezing compared to everything else, not that he was going to mention it.

"The Sun Chi Lantern," Dojo replied, displacing quite a bit of snow as he landed. "It basically lets you absorb another person's chi as long as they're standing in its light."

Omi made a sour look as he dropped to the ground which instantly grew moreso when the snow around him decided it was rather attracted to his socks and started to give them unwanted attention, like so many grinders on the dance floor. "I already knew that."

"I deed not!" Boris piped up as he landed besides Omi and immediately fell backwards. Fortunately for him, he had no objections to snow pants. He had taken a vow of non-violence. And apparently a vow of non-self-defense, as he had admitted that he had no fighting skills whatsoever. Even so, Dojo thoughtfully helped him up before shrinking down to a more manageable, shoulderable size. "What ees 'chi?'"

Omi forgot his earlier promise and made a particularly derisive sigh that clogged his throat for a few seconds. As Dojo deigned to drape himself around Boris for better lecturing, Omi waddled his way up to a nearby tree, trying to make it so that the least amount of snow fell into his shoes. This, of course, made even more snow than usual clump in his socks.

With each step accompanied by a desperate shake that  _should_  have thrown off the snow, Omi reached the tree later than he would have liked. But the Sun Chi Lantern was still there, dangling from a starved branch, and that's all that really mattered.

It was only after he had taken the lantern down that he noticed there was something else that certainly mattered, albeit in a much different way. From his vantage point in the tree, he could see another figure who had been trudging up on the other side of the hill. It was well-bundled, moreso than Omi in any case, but was certainly taller. An adult. With all the padded clothing, it was hard to tell much else. There was something else besides the figure, something that was quite hard to see against the backdrop of pure, white snow due to its transparent nature. But the transparency itself was enough of a clue, and Omi's guts twisted itself into raging, fearful knots at the sight of  _her_  that he almost didn't notice the more substantial figure suddenly pointing up at him until it was almost too late.

Omi fell out of the tree because there was not much time to think of anything more dignified, and rolled all the way back down, past Dojo and Boris, who had barely gone beyond the foot of the hill due to their conversation. Before either of them could ask why he had decided to get snow in more than just his shoes, a shot rang out.

" _Dojo!_ " Omi snapped when the two did nothing but stare wildly at where the sound came from. He had to reach over and shake them to get a reaction. "We must go – "

" _Z_ _í_ _._ "

It was a word that Omi wasn't quite sure he understood, but the sound of a gun cocking got the point across. He could hear Boris take in a rattly breath beside him and saw the smaller boy squeeze his eyes shut as they all raised their arms. The job of glaring sullenly at their attackers fell to him, and he performed it with gusto even though the sight of them seemed to curdle whatever soup was left in his stomach. The figure. The gun.  _Her._

He couldn't see the expression on the figure's face because it was covered up by scarves and tinted goggles, arranged so that the only thing it revealed was a rather chapped nose. He couldn't even tell where the person was looking at, but the grip on the gun told him that this person did not need two to shoot the both of them should they make any sudden movements. What he could see was the expression of  _her._  It was displayed prominently on her mask-like face; a shark-toothed grin, deranged eyes. It wasn't the expression of a predator, because at least predators were grounded by dry, boring, biological necessities. She was held back by absolutely nothing besides her physical inabilities. That is, her inability to be physical.

As the figure awkwardly unholstered a thicker pistol and fired a flare into the air, never looking away from the small, pathetic group, Wuya leered.

"｢ _My, my. Another one, Dojo? At this point, I'm sure you could be accused of child endangerment. You know, life would probably be so much easier on you if you made friends with other immortals instead of insignificant mayflies._ ｣"

He hadn't heard her voice back then. Even if she had spoke, he wouldn't have been able to hear her above the sounds of gunfire, heavy artillery, explosions, the fire, the smoke, the oppressive smoke, everywhere there was smoke...

"｢Well at least  _I_  still have hands,｣" Dojo spat back.

"｢How did you know to come here?｣" Omi asked suddenly. He could hear more shuffling sounds as they were surrounded by similarly-clad figures, all sporting more guns, more weapons. The longer he stared at Wuya, the clearer the flame-wreathed temple became every time he blinked. But he couldn't look away.

The expressive mask turned towards him. It was the first time Wuya had even looked at him. And even then, it was more of an aside. She was his nemesis, his worst nightmare, his life's purpose, and to her, he was just another transient face. He had studied all of her deeds, all of her known powers, heard her name spoken softly with a fear that lasted for generations beyond her downfall. Did she even know his name? Did she actually know he was the Dragon of Water?

"｢ _The world has changed in these past fifteen hundred years, my friend,_ ｣" she said, her voice as cloudy as she was. "｢ _Technology I could not have even imagined. Did you know that there are objects called satellites orbiting the world now? I don't really know the specifics, but let's just say I have found myself very well-endowed with connections. I practically have an army at my disposal, you see?_ ｣" The indistinguishable people that surrounded them did not even move a muscle as she gestured towards them. All of their weapons were pointing to the same place.

"｢ _My new ally has people everywhere. It is very unlikely that you can compete with that, Dojo. Are you really going to continue to resist with only children to back you up? I'm sure you don't want anybody else to get hurt. Things would be easier for everybody if you would come with us instead, Dojo._ ｣"

Dojo shivered, but only because Boris was starting to. "｢You want me to tell you where all the Shen Gong Wu are.｣"

"｢ _We'll find them eventually, of course, but everything would go much faster if you helped. If you surrender yourself and whatever Wu you have, we'll leave these children alone._ ｣" Boris' arms were starting to falter, Omi noticed. He wasn't used to holding them up for so long. "｢ _If you don't, then we'll just shoot them here and take you with us anyways. Or maybe you'll escape again, with more bodies to bury? And then what, you'll find more humans to kill?_ ｣"

Dojo looked like he was about to launch himself at the ghostly witch, something that Omi was sure would not be healthy for anybody. "｢Alright,｣" he blurted out, syllables stumbling over themselves in order to be faster than whatever Dojo was going to do. It was enough to stop the dragon right in his tracks.

"｢You –  _what?!_ ｣" he shrieked, causing Boris to flinch underneath.

"｢I shall hand this over,｣" Omi said, indicating the Sun Chi Lantern still in his hand, ignoring the increasingly confused blubbering sounds coming from his friend.

Wuya's grin widened until it seemed to split her mask in half. "｢ _It appears you have found wiser allies than usual, Dojo. Stay right there._ ｣"

After a bit of hushed consultations, it seemed that the shady group decided to send down the figure who had first held them at gunpoint. Still not holstering the gun, the figure started to go down the hill. Dojo was trying very hard not to freak out.

"｢Omi, if you have a plan or something, I'd  _really like to know it._ ｣"

"｢Be prepared to make cover,｣" was all he said as the figure finally approached and reached out for the Sun Chi Lantern. When the person moved to tug it out of his hand, Omi tightened his grip.

"｢I challenge you to a Xiaolin Showdown,｣" he proclaimed, much to the confusion of most everybody around him. He took a bit of delight seeing Wuya frown, the first frown of their encounter.

"｢ _Shoot them._ ｣"

"｢Dojo!｣" Omi shouted, and the dragon immediately hopped off and thudded back to the ground, quite larger than he had been before. His coils reached around them just as Omi heard the gunfire start and Dojo grunted. His scales weren't quite armor, but bullets didn't quite mean much for something larger-than-human-sized. Still, Wuya shot straight up and started waving her arms.

"｢ _Stop shooting, stop!_ ｣" she said, somehow hissing and screeching at the same time. "｢ _You! Just shoot him!_ ｣"

Granted, Omi hadn't thought out the plan much beyond this point. He mostly hoped that being in close quarters would mean he could at least deflect the gun somehow, but to his surprise, the figure in front of him simply looked up and said something in an indistinct, feminine voice, something that sounded something like 'just a child' from the little bits he could catch. She was speaking Cantonese, he realized, which was a little like a different dialect but a lot like a different language.

Somewhere behind him, he could hear Dojo trying to get Boris caught up on everything. "｢Does she accept?｣" he asked Wuya, who kneaded her forehead even though it was impossible for her to get a headache.

"｢ _Alright, yes, she does,_ ｣" she hissed after briefly speaking to her bodied subordinate for a moment.

"｢No weapons, hand-to-hand combat. The first knocked out shall be the loser,｣" Omi said, his voice getting more solid. At this point, it was pretty simple to just follow the plan. The outcome was practically certain. "｢I'll wager my Crystal Glasses against your Golden Tiger Claws.｣ Boris!" he called out behind him, holding out a hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dojo bite his lip rather disapprovingly but still translate to Boris what Omi was asking him to do. Under other circumstances, the younger child might have been more reluctant to put a gift of God in as a bet, but the threat of guns was still very much on his mind and so the jeweled glasses were handed over without much fuss.

"｢You  _had the Crystal Glasses?_ ｣" Wuya mused aloud as she started to float through the air around them. "｢ _I wondered where they had gone when they weren't where Guanyin thought they were._ ｣"

"｢So you are working with Guanyin?｣" Omi shot out. Even with the more physical threat right in front of him, he couldn't help but track Wuya instead. Her ethereal pacing made his legs stiffen even though logically she could do nothing to him.

Wuya's eyes narrowed as she smirked. "｢ _She certainly made it easier for us to steal all that Wu before you could get it. In any case, we do not have the Golden Tiger Claws._ ｣"

"｢Yes you do,｣" Omi responded much louder than was necessary.

"｢ _Well, we do,_ ｣" Wuya admitted with a word-equivalent of a shrug, "｢ _but not with us. After all, we like to be efficient. The one with the Tiger Claws is currently transporting other squads to other suspected locations of Shen Gong Wu. You'll have to settle for the Mikado Arm._ ｣" Wuya's sneer was practically a mile wide.

Omi bit his lip. This wasn't quite part of the plan. He didn't even realize that the Mikado Arm had been one of those stolen. But outside Dojo were several figures who didn't seem to have qualms against shooting children, so he just had to hope that he wouldn't end up getting hit by superpowered fists. "｢Fine. Let us begin.｣"

Omi would have been immensely gratified that the woman fell over, having been taken by surprise by the sudden change in scenery and elevation, if it weren't for the fact that he had fallen in a similar manner. The fact that the snow around them was clearing away was appreciated, though not so much that it was being replaced by white sand that stuck to his now damp socks. Somewhere around them, the other gunmen were being set on higher turf. One of them seemed to be afraid of heights. Dojo, not a competitor himself, was forced to where Boris stood opposite of the group of gunmen, a bit too far to make a quick pick-up in case things went south but close enough that Omi could see him tugging and twisting his beard. The Sun Chi Lantern hung above them like a particularly judgmental stage light.

" _Gong Yi Tampai,_ " Omi shouted, and while Wuya explained what that meant to her champion, he took the chance to charge and land a flying kick right in the middle of her abdomen.

She merely stumbled backwards a few steps, her jacket so heavily padded that the force of his attack just dispersed. Not only that, but not even his years of training quite prepared him for fighting adults, not directly anyways. A quick win was probably too much to hope for.

Rather than immediately whip out the Mikado Arm, Omi's opponent started tugging off her scarf and began to struggle out of her outer layer. Once again, Omi felt quite a bit of gratification, though he didn't have time to bask in it as she was getting very close to full mobility. He tried to sweep her feet, but she stayed stiffly upright and kicked him away in response.

It wasn't too severe. Omi was able to just tuck and roll himself back to his feet. As soon as he was upright again, he decided to stand back a bit instead and tried to turn his head towards Dojo while still keeping his eye on the woman's progress. "｢Dojo! Can you talk to her? Try to convince her that she doesn't have to fight me?｣"

There was a brief pause for a shouted conversation. The woman shook off her snow pants.

"｢She says 'I may not want to shoot kids in the head, but I'm perfectly fine with breaking their legs so that they'll stop kicking me,'｣" Dojo shouted back. "｢Really pleasant, that one.｣"

The last thing she took off were her goggles, revealing eyes as sharp as chainsaws and as cold as her heart, maybe. They were certainly eyes that meant business, a hypothesis proven by the fact that she called out "｢Mikado Arm｣" without much hesitation, though she did stumble over the words.

The sleeves of her turtleneck ripped apart like dreary, purple confetti as her arms turned into specimens that would make any bodybuilder weep and any drug tester raise an eyebrow or two.

She was off like a shot, her hat whipping off in the wind and letting out her cropped hair, winding up a terrifying muscle-y punch that Omi only dodged by diving to the ground. Letting the Crystal Glasses fall over his eyes as he did a backspring to his feet, he proceeded to dodge every punch before they happened.

Peering into the future while in the middle of the fight was not as comforting as he thought. It turned out that when he knew meaty punches were coming his way, he would rather see them where they were right now rather than see them where they would be, as otherwise he was dodging punches that weren't quite existent yet but were about to be and thus could not be sure whether he was dodging the right punch or dodging away from a punch that didn't exist straight into one that did and now thinking about this was giving him a headache. It seemed to be working out alright, seeing as he hadn't been punched yet. But there had to be a way for him to get out of his constant cycle of dodging punches.

Ducking under another swing before it swung, Omi suddenly jumped some distance away, landing right at the edge of the arena. As his foot displaced some sand, he took an ill-advised glance down. It certainly looked like a long drop, seeing as the continuously falling sand did not seem to pile up or even lead anywhere, and even though he knew from his readings that the showdown would never let him fall to his death, it was very little comfort from where he was standing.

As he tried to shake sand off his hands, the short-haired woman charged once more and Omi instinctively dropped to his back and used her momentum to throw her over the edge.

There was a short, satisfying yelp, but it was soon followed by an elongated crunching noise that told him it wasn't quite over. Peering back over the edge, he could see her a few feet down, her fingers digging into the side of the elevated arena. Sand was still falling in her face, but she was pushing past it to start scaling back up into the fray.

Omi was pretty sure that jumping down and getting within arm's reach of her would be a terrible idea, but simply waiting for her to get back up wouldn't be any good either. With nothing much to throw, Omi instead started pushing sand off the edge and onto her head. As he formed dunes to kick them off, he could hear spitting, a bit of cursing in between, and finally, a startled shout that lasted all the way out of the boundaries of the showdown.

The ground stopped being impossibly high and the snow stopped being sand and went back to snow. The woman landed, probably feeling much too cold sans all her outer layers, and Omi was very certain that now wasn't a good time to stand around and observe. He ran without fully turning around back to where Dojo was, Shen Gong Wu in hand. The dragon got the idea rather quickly and changed to flying size once more, not even waiting for his two wards to jump on but instead scooping them in his hands and taking off. A few shots rang out, some whizzing by Dojo's head, but they abruptly cut off after they had flown several feet into the air. Dojo didn't slow down until they were beyond the mountain range, and even then he didn't pause to let them on his back proper until they were clear into the next continent.

After a minute of riding on Dojo's back in silence, Omi let out a laugh, because maybe laughing would make the fact that he had been held at gunpoint and used as a bargaining chip more tolerable. It didn't, not really, but Dojo joined in with a meek chuckle that buoyed a bit of joy above his pounding heart because they all managed to get out alive and that was pretty amazing. "Wuya must be most frustrated now," he said, moving down to giggling.

"Yeah," Dojo said, only because he was expected to say it.

"Perhaps next time she will not underestimate me," Omi added, but the boast came out wrong and instead turned into something introspective.

Boris, who had been quiet until now, said, "...You are to do zis...again...?"

Omi's smile dropped. It was a bit too exhausting to hold it up at this point. "I have to. But...you do not...it is not required for you to assist..."

When Boris moved to wipe the fog from his glasses, his hands shook. "No, um...I steel would like to help...but per'aps...I weel not join you next time...?"

"If that is for the best," said Omi, keeping his face impassive as he drilled his eyes into the back of Dojo's head.

* * *

Dojo landed back in the Temple of All Religions under a waning moon. Despite it being evening, a few of the Russian monks were setting pieces of stained glass into an unfinished window. They didn't notice Dojo spiraling from the sky, but they did notice the two boys walking back towards the living quarters. One of them waved and called out, "Where you two go?"

Neither Boris nor Omi knew how to respond, so they just nodded in the way that foreigners did in different lands and quickly ducked inside. When they passed by the dining room, the cook was watching a news report that Omi later learned was about several thefts done around the world, near simultaneously. But even though the two tried to sneak by, the large man called out to them with a meaningless vocalization and jumped to the kitchen, coming out with two heated bowls of more soup, which they accepted with more nodding.

"I do not mean to be...um...rood?" Boris said when they were both back in their room and after a long and silent dinner. "But...you see...maybe after I asseest wiz ze maps...maybe zen you could..."

"Leave?" Omi finished, and Boris shut his eyes as though expecting a slap.

"That was...pretty intense, wasn't it." Dojo morosely picked a piece of limp cabbage out of Omi's bowl and did nothing but examine it.

"Zat was ze first time...I had never..."

"Me too," Omi cut in because it was already obvious what Boris was struggling to say. That just seemed to make his shoulders even heavier.

"I'm sorry that had to happen, Boris. I should've...I mean, we'd be happy to have you around but I understand if..."

"Can you take bowl back to cook please?" Omi said much too quickly, not even noticing his grammatical flubs this time, and Boris took the invitation to leave with just about the same speed, leaving Omi and Dojo alone once more.

"｢We should go tomorrow,｣" was the first thing Omi said as soon as Boris' footsteps faded away to nothingness.

It was practically a set-up for another argument, but there was not much left in Dojo at the moment. He nibbled at the cabbage still in his hand. "｢We aren't done with the map thing, though,｣" he said, not looking much at anywhere.

"｢It will not matter as long as we have the Crystal Glasses.｣"

Dojo paused and pulled the bit of cabbage out of his mouth again. "｢You really want to ask him to give up what he thinks is the gift of God?｣"

"｢We are not required to ask,｣" said Omi, staring hard at the grain of the table. Dojo froze.

"｢You want to  _steal,_ ｣" he said, finding his second wind, bringing his voice to a shout once more.

"｢No.｣" Omi's voice did not rise to his challenge. It stayed hushed, not argumentative, just resigned. "｢I  _will_  steal. If you would like, you may check.｣" And reaching for the tote bag that Boris had left behind, Omi slid the Crystal Glasses towards Dojo.

The dragon did not reach for the glasses for several long seconds. But there was nothing for him to do but give in.

When he put them down again, he said nothing and simply went to bed. Omi said nothing in his defense.

There was nothing to say.

 


	7. Fate

Omi woke up with the pressure of late-night thoughts behind his eyes. The room was still dark this time, and he could feel the chill that came with the anticipation of a tough job – and with kicking off his sheets in his sleep. Considering that he was already half-way out, Omi swung his legs over the side of the bed and hissed in a harsh breath as his feet touched the wooden floor, saturated with the early-morning cold. He kept still for a moment – right above him, he could hear Boris and his slow, regulated breathing.

With no other unexpected sounds, Omi began the process of slipping his feet into his shoes. And then the longer process of reaching the desk with the tote bag soundlessly. And then the even longer process of trying to figure out which bits of paper to pile away for transport while rummaging in the bag for both the atlas and the Crystal Glasses, again, soundlessly.

He probably should have looked around for Dojo first. The dragon had gotten up at some point overnight to continue to work over the various maps, and Omi had fallen asleep to burning wax and shuffling pages. But there was no reason to think that he was still up, at least not until he landed on the table with a surprisingly heavy  _thump_  and said "｢Well,｣" much too casually for someone who had just dropped from the ceiling. "｢Looking for something?｣"

Dojo's sudden appearance almost got Omi to jump all the way back to his bed. His arms flailed into a stiff defensive pose. At least, until his brain caught on that it was just Dojo in front of him. He relaxed everything except his face. "｢Dojo...did you hide them?｣"

"｢I am disgusted and appalled that you would even suggest such a thing,｣" said Dojo, rubbing his knuckles on his chest and tucking a hand behind his back, conspicuously concealing his (probably crossed) claws. "｢But while we're talking, actually, maybe we can talk a bit?｣"

"｢It is common to talk while talking,｣" Omi replied bitterly as he took a peek under the tote bag, then under the table.

The jab slid right off Dojo as though he had lovingly waxed his scales beforehand. "｢I'm thinking we should think over just what we're doing here, maybe go over an actual mission statement, rules of conduct and stuff.｣"

Omi craned his head upwards, squinting at crevices heavily shadowed, even moreso than it was down here. "｢You hid it near the ceiling, am I right?｣"

"｢ _What?_  Hahaha,  _anyways,_ _｣_ " said Dojo much louder than necessary, which usually meant 'yes.' Omi started eyeing the walls for handholds. "｢I was just thinking, maybe we could try  _not_ stealing and stuff? Like I'm sure there's a perfectly good solution if we all just sat down and talked.｣" The corner of the room provided a wooden support beam. If he bounced off the adjacent wall at a certain angle, he could probably get halfway up and then shimmy the rest of the way.

"｢We both saw the same thing. That will be the future that happens.｣" Omi bent his knees, ready to sprint, at least until Dojo's next words.

"｢Wow, you sound  _so_ torn up about it.｣"

Omi stiffened. It was something he seemed to be doing a lot as of late, which was certainly unhealthy; but there was simply no other reaction to a world that kept throwing things at him. There was no way to dodge. So he just had to stiffen and hope he was still standing in the end. "｢What exactly do you want to say,  _Dojo?_ ｣" he finally said, turning to actually look straight at the dragon for the first time since his appearance. For his part, Dojo was at least clamping his mouth shut, literally with his hands, but it was too little too late.

"｢Nothin',｣" Dojo managed to mumble around his hands, but the corners of his mouth were already tacking on, "｢Jus' that 'm pretty sure he taught –  _you_ were taught better than this.｣"

"｢ _Master Fung,_ ｣" Omi spat, and his heart did victory laps upon seeing Dojo flinch, "｢taught me to perform my  _duties._  If you  _truly_  wish to insinuate that I am unfaithful, then  _first_  it would do you well to examine yourself!｣"

Dojo recoiled. Omi could see the dragon's plans, whatever they had been, crumble in his eyes. "｢I – I'm just saying – ｣"

"｢ _Who_ was it that abandoned me in favor of a woman we had never met?｣" Omi demanded, a finger pointed straight into Dojo's chest. He quivered under it like a man in front of a firing squad.

"｢She was the – ｣"

"｢When she was stripping me of my  _natural duties,_  did it ever  _occur_ to you to, perhaps,  _speak on my behalf?_ ｣"

"｢I just thought that she had a point – ｣"

"｢So you trust strangers over your  _friends?_ Strangers who are possibly working  _against_ us?｣" There was a cold lump festering in Omi's stomach that froze his legs, his arms, but not his mouth. He couldn't leave and so he talked, and every time he spoke he could feel bits of that cold lump claw its way up his throat.

"｢ _No,_  I – ｣"

"｢ _Why did you not tell me,_ ｣" he finally shouted, heat rushing into him and battering the cold lump until it didn't sit so heavy in his guts. Everything was blurry. Omi forced his eyes into a glare and tried hard not to blink. He told himself he hoped that everything was blurry for Dojo too so that he couldn't see the tears that inevitably ran over the sides, but he knew the real reason was that he simply wanted Dojo to cry.

"｢Why,｣" Omi continued, his voice cracking like a dam, "｢did you mislead me...? Why did you let me think I was the only one, that the world depended on  _me,_  when there were others who make me redundant? I am trying to do what I was  _raised_  to do, so why are you telling me that I am  _wrong?_ ｣" He took in a breath. It had been a while since the last one. "｢Why are you so eager to have Boris join?  _I_  am the one who can fight,  _I_ was the one who thought of a plan to get us out safely,  _I_ won the showdown, so  _why am I not good enough for you?_ ｣"

Dojo took in a breath because it was a lot to take in. There were too many things to respond to, and so he could do nothing but hesitate. The next word followed only after a ten-second delay.

"｢I honestly don't know why he didn't tell you – ｣"

"｢Say his name,｣" Omi muttered towards the floor.

"｢ – What?｣"

"｢Why are you so afraid to say his name?｣"

He imagined Dojo reeling in the conversational whiplash, brow furrowing, breath quickening, eyes darting. He imagined a volcano, bubbles of guilt rising and popping like pustules, scalding his skin until the cells simply dried up and died and he could no longer feel anything and no longer had to think about feeling anything. No pain. No confusion. No more caught throats, no more pressure on his skull, no more dry ice filling his stomach, no more smoke brimming through his teeth whenever he spoke. It was time to offload all of this onto someone else, or at least drag them down into the depths with him so that he wasn't the only one boiling in a mixture of grief and guilt and anger and confusion and betrayal.

"｢That – that's got nothing to do with anything,｣" Dojo snapped, his voice wavering unsteadily on the heat of his breath.

"｢You were with him. You were always besides Master Fung,｣" Omi continued, glossing over the dragon's words. "｢They were after  _you._ ｣"

"｢Look,｣" Dojo said, uncertain of what he was trying to interrupt, but it was clear that it wasn't anything good.

"｢When they found you, they found him too, they  _must_  have. You would have been there when he died. You could have  _done_  something! You could have  _saved_ him, but you did _not!_ _｣_ "

Whatever Dojo wanted to say, it wasn't coming out. Omi could see his throat clench, blocking any intelligible sound.

"｢This is your fault.｣" The silence egged him on, practically pulled the words out of his mouth. "｢Everything is your fault. We would still have a home. I would not be forced to steal. Master Fung would still be alive.｣" Another flinch, as though the mere utterance of the name had struck his scales. Dojo couldn't help but cringe and, seeing this, Omi couldn't help but pounce. "｢What did you do?｣" the monk continued, feeling the edges of his mouth sharpen into a sneer. "｢Did you flee? Did you  _abandon_ him? Did – ｣"

"｢Shut up.｣"

Omi shut up, not from the sheer force behind the words, but from the pitiful absence of force. Among the various shadows that the darkness cast on the desk, only one was shivering. Dojo usually took on a rather diminutive form and Omi was used to that. But this was the first time he had ever seen how  _small_ he was.

Nothing changed. He could still feel the smoke brewing in his throat. The dry ice boiling in his stomach. His tongue tasted like ash and blood and sin. Despite everything he said, all the words and thoughts he released, nothing changed. Except his voice was somewhat hoarser.

"｢Grandmaster Guanyin was right,｣" Dojo said, aiming an inscrutable expression downwards. "｢You  _aren't_ ready.｣"

Omi blinked and the shivering shadow was gone. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dragon's tail whip around the corner of the doorway. If Dojo could have slammed the door he probably would have.

Omi took one wobbly step towards the door and almost fell over. There was something that he really shouldn't forget. As much as he needed to know where Dojo was going, he also needed to grab everything necessary for the journey before the sun rose. His task firmly planted in his mind once more, he spun on his heel, sped halfway up the wall, and then sprung for a ceiling beam. The Crystal Glasses gleamed a salutation from the corner it was tucked away in.

They were easily swiped away from their hidey-hole without protest. Omi fell back to the floor and started to fold the various parchments and stuff them into the atlas. Sliding the scroll off the desk and shoving the hefty book under his shoulder, Omi tottered towards the door.

"...Omi?"

Of course. It was wishful thinking to hope that Boris would remain asleep through it all.

He closed his eyes and breathed harshly through his nose. And, against his better instinct, turned around to face Boris, his expression settling into exhaustion. Boris was still in his bunk and as Omi's eyes lingered on the bed that he had occupied only moments earlier, the young Buddhist couldn't help but think about how happier he was in it.

"Ees zere somesing ze matter?" Boris was sitting up now. Without his glasses, there was nothing to brighten up his face and thus no hints as to what his expression may be.

"Return to your sleep," Omi said, stuffing the Crystal Glasses between the atlas and his side. The sudden movement only served to draw Boris' eyes towards it and towards the unmistakable glint the prognosticating Wu made in the rising sun.

"Zat's – " said Boris, instantly rolling over the side of his bunk. A second later, he landed roughly on the stone floor but bounced back onto his feet. " –  _s'il vous plaît attendre –_ ze geeft of – you cannot – "

"It is  _not,"_ Omi hissed, swiveling on his heel and facing the door, "your gift from whatever being you happen to believe in. The  _correct_  name to call it by is the  _Crystal Glasses."_  What was  _with_  today and names? Why couldn't everybody simply indicate things through the proper syllables, the proper sounds, why couldn't the world just be  _right?_

Boris continued to shuffle forward, squinting and grasping in the dim light. The effort it took to discern where Omi was standing was terribly distracting. " _Non, non,_  you see, we were guided by God – you 'ad not been peeked – "

"You do not understand  _anything!_ " Omi shouted with such ferocity that his voice whirled him around in order to direct itself towards someone. "Do not even  _try_ to pretend that you do when you cannot even possibly  _dream_ to go through what I go through! Do you even _realize_  how false your conception of the world  _is?_ " Boris no longer needed to find Omi; the young Buddhist was all too accommodating in approaching him, so much so that Boris was backed all the way into the bottom bunk. Their height difference was small, but Omi was easily swinging the thick atlas around as though he were in constant debate on whether he was going to throw it to the floor or not.

There was nothing for Boris to do but to lean back as far as he could without actually lying down on the bed. " _Je suis désolé, je suis vraiment désolé, je suis très jeune, je ne sais rien,_  I oonderstand, ze goons, ze shooting, ze whorld ees very scary for you, I saw by my own self – "

" – and you  _chose_ to  _run away_  – " Omi stopped. The words were flowing too smoothly from his mouth, so smoothly that he wanted to vomit. His arm was shaking from the weight he was holding up and he stepped away as he lowered the dangerously thick atlas. He was breathing hard, not from the impromptu weight-lifting but from the effort it took to hold back the tears burning hot in his eyes.

Boris peeked through his fingers, but did not move from his spot. Now that Omi was focused, he could hear a steady, foreign mumble, muffled by Boris' hands, that was steadily rising in hysterical volume. A phrase, over and over:  _Je suis désolé, je suis désolé._

" _J'avais tellement peur, je suis désolé que vous avez à faire, je suis désolé que je ne pouvais pas le supporter,_  but please...please, I must protect...I promeesed...eet ees  _mon devoir_  to look after ze geeft of God – "

He could feel it again, the words boiling like bile forcing its way up his throat. He kept his arms shaking by his sides this time. Lowered his voice. "You are no protector if all you can do is run away."

Boris flinched, snapping his fingers shut over his eyes once more. Omi could see his shoulders shudder as he turned away again. The matter was surely over now. There was nothing to do but to continue with what he was always going to do in the first place.

Halfway out the door, a tug on his grip on the Crystal Glasses stalled his feet. Omi turned his head and saw Boris, clutching at the Wu with white, shaking knuckles, staring down at the floor. There were tears collecting around his chin, dripping down every time his body shook with hastily suppressed sobs. His next words, mumbled and quavering, were almost as indiscernible as his French.

"...I...sh-shalleenge you to...to a..."

"You have nothing to wager," said Omi, easily pulling the Crystal Glasses away. With his only support gone, Boris collapsed onto his hands and knees. Omi couldn't see him, but he could hear the way he tried to uphold an absence of sound and failed. He could hear it until he closed the door behind him. And then all he could hear was his own footsteps. Only then did he feel safe enough to start wiping at his face.

* * *

"Dojo?" Omi called, trying to shout a whisper. He wasn't sure how early the Russians woke up, but he certainly didn't want to hasten their schedule. The sun was now fully above the horizon. He had been hoping to reconcile with Dojo and get out of the country by now, but the world had conspired to make everything harder. And in unfair ways too – not through any physical hindrances,  _that_ he knew how to handle. No, the world was throwing things at him that coldcocked his mind and left his heart puttering around in circles through a thornbush.

It was unfair, disgustingly unfair, because it wasn't like he could do anything else. You were only ever supposed to be punished for doing something  _wrong._

Omi ducked into the still-unfinished Buddhist temple. The glaring absence of a statue struck him more deeply than it had the first time around, now that it was combined with the continued absence of Dojo. He wouldn't have flown off without him, right?

The blank walls propelled him out again and he practically careened his way into another building. This one was filled with benches for some reason, but at the end of the large room was a statue that Omi recognized as some figure of worship. A remarkably thin one, at that. But no dragons.

The second building, square with large minarets at each corner, contained a long white hall with the sides, for some reason, lined up with faucets and seats in front of an indented gutter. Omi barged his way through the doors at the end and found himself in a room with very little ornamentation at all. Prayer mats, at once familiar and exotic, were lined up in a perfect grid. The silence was not oppressive, but authoritative – the room  _commanded_ silence. And despite it being empty, Omi couldn't help but close the doors meekly and tiptoe away. Still no dragons.

The last building was domed. There were more of those benches inside, along with a small staircase that led nowhere beyond an elevated podium that was enclosed by arches. The smell of something burning worried him a little, until he saw that it was only coming from candles. The scented smoke, crisp and earthy, was almost comforting, reminiscent of burning incense. The fact that the candles were alight seemed to indicate that someone prone to fire-breathing might be lingering nearby, but despite constantly calling Dojo's name and going so far as to crawl under the benches, Omi found nobody.

The buildings and its pillars were suddenly too constricting, the smoke suddenly coiling around his neck, squeezing, and Omi practically threw himself out the doors so fast,  _too_ fast that he almost slipped in his own sweat. He was sleek with the stuff, which almost froze in the outside Russian chill.

" _Dojo!_ " Omi yelped, almost yelping again in surprise at the desperation in his own voice. Something in his arms clinked. Why  _was_ he worried? He had the  _Crystal Glasses._  He never had to be worried about not knowing anything, never had to worried about being wrong  _ever again._

With difficulty, Omi hooked the Glasses over his ears while trying to maintain a solid grip on the rest of his cargo. They glowed as soon as they slid over his eyes, blinding him with the light of future information. Before he even knew it, Omi's feet were already scurrying back towards the husk of the Buddhist temple.

"｢Y'know, you humans never think to look up.｣"

With a flick of his head, Omi managed to force the Glasses to balance on his forehead rather than in front of his eyes as he scanned the building. Still being in his smaller form, Dojo was a bit hard to spot against the colorful roofs. But there he was, a limp line of green amongst the bright yellows and blues that made up the outside of the Buddhist temple. The dragon's form was limp, impassive as he eyed the Crystal Glasses that rested atop Omi's head. "｢So you went through with it, huh?｣"

It was hard to see Dojo's expression from this distance, but Omi could at least see that it didn't change at all while he bowed his head solemnly. "｢...I apologize for what I had said earlier.｣"

"｢I'm sorry too,｣" the dragon replied, suddenly looking away.

"｢You do not have to apologize,｣" said Omi as he pushed the atlas into a more secure position and moved closer to where Dojo was lounging.

Even though it was clearly a move of mere courtesy (or maybe because of it), Dojo responded as though it were a legitimate suggestion. "｢Good, 'cause I'm actually not,｣" he spat, managing to huff a bit of smog so thick that it immediately took a nosedive and splattered on the otherwise-spotless roof.

Omi halted in his approach, jolting his eyes upward. His mouth fluttered open but he managed to clamp it shut before anything could fly out. Instead, he glared at the ground. "｢I understand. But what will you do?｣"

"｢Hm?｣"

From Dojo's vantage point, Omi looked nothing more like a sad, low-hanging balloon. "｢Will you...refuse to help me from now on? Will you insist that I should go back to Guanyin...?｣"

The dragon heaved out a long sigh, finally allowing his brow to relax. "｢Dunno.｣"

"｢You could always check,｣" Omi said, managing to free up an arm to helpfully tap the lens of the Crystal Glasses. Dojo spared a wide-eyed glance.

"｢Um, no thanks.｣" The furrow in his brow was back again, but less pointed, less accusatory. Dojo rolled over on his back and directed the furrow to the sky. "｢Lemme think for a bit, 'kay?｣"

The sun finished getting out of bed as Dojo blew ponderous smoke rings into the air. The monks surely would be rising around this time and even as Omi tried to stay silent, he glanced over his shoulder towards the main building every few seconds. Boris surely would tell them. The alarm would be raised.

But the snow seemed to dampen all sound and all conflict. The regularity of Dojo's puffs of smoke and the way they continuously framed the sun was somehow relaxing, in the way that watching someone else water the plants was relaxing.

The atmosphere was so static that Dojo's mere turn of his head was enough to shatter it. Omi straightened up immediately.

"｢So this is it? This is what you're gonna do?｣"

"｢There is nothing else for me to do,｣" Omi replied, his mouth set. The Crystal Glasses glinted in the sun.

Dojo rolled back over and rested his chin on his crossed arms. "｢I know this is important. The whole world's at stake and all that jazz.  _And_ this is supposed to be your destiny or whatever. So.｣" Deep breath. "｢I'll go along with whatever decision you make here.｣"

Omi's smile grew so fast that he could have suffered whiplash. In contrast, his voice kept even and low. "｢In that case, we should – ｣"

"｢ _Hold on,_ ｣" Dojo barked, and Omi finally noticed that he had made no move to leave the roof. "｢First, tell me something. What happens here? What happens to Boris?｣"

Omi's smile went the other way and crash landed into the bad neighborhoods of emotion. Again, Boris. Boris, Boris, Boris. They were leaving him behind, weren't they? He didn't belong with them. It was beyond clear at this point. Still, Omi slid the Crystal Glasses back over his eyes

_and saw the Temple of All Religions still standing._

_Omi almost scoffed until he took a closer look, a closer look at the untrampled snow, the shroud of silence, the sheer absence that was both familiar and foreign; familiar because he had experienced this absence before. Foreign because it had not been quite so neat._

" _Ildar Khanov, well-known as an artist and a philanthropist, was found dead this morning inside his own Temple of All Religions."_

_A voice, female, rang out smooth and business-like in a language that he was sure he shouldn't be able to understand but could anyways. He couldn't see her, but he got the impression of someone sitting very far away, in a room with bright lights and a polished desk. He got the impression of millions listening to this very voice, and even other voices relating the same information._

_He saw the Buddhist temple. He saw inside. He saw no statue._

" _The Temple of All Religions, meant to be a 'temple of culture and truth,' will unfortunately go unfinished; although Khanov has listed in his will instructions on what to do with the temple in the case of his death, all inheritors have also died within the temple walls. However, groups are already forming to try to raise funding for the temple's completion as closely to Khanov's vision as possible."_

_There was no mess. No rubble. Nothing at all strange about the inside of the main building besides the scatterings of white outlines on the floor in the shape of bodies. He didn't know why, had never seen one before, but he could understand what it represented. The absence of a person._

" _Investigations found no signs of an intruder or any forced entry. As it is common knowledge that Khanov's assistants all have had experiences with drugs and alcohol, reports concluded that despite his efforts in rehabilitating them, one or more had a violent outburst that resulted in several deaths and, in all likelihood, concluded with suicide."_

_That was wrong. How could anybody think that? It was unfair slander._

_The vision slowly drew itself towards Boris' room. All the outlines had been of men. He had seen none smaller than that. But now, the Glasses were wheeling him towards that room, towards the door he had closed only a few minutes ago, but precognitive visions didn't care about solid objects and physics, in a few seconds he would simply just go through and see_

Omi practically threw the Crystal Glasses off and was instantly blinded by the snow again. The dots that flickered in and out of sight seemed like spots of blood flicked across his vision, doing nothing for his sudden bout of nausea. Turning his head to the ground, he saw that at some point Dojo had come down and was now sitting below him, staring straight up in his face with a perceptive squint. Faced with such seeking eyes, Omi immediately straightened up his face and glanced somewhere else.

"｢What did you see?｣"

He had steeled himself against this question, of course, but his breath still shuddered. "｢There is nothing we can do. The future is how it is.｣"

"｢I see,｣" was all Dojo said.

* * *

Dojo was silent as he allowed Omi on his back once more, silent as he climbed the air with great speed, almost daring anybody to even catch sight of him. He continued to be silent as they leveled off east, and even though they seemed to be flying to the blinding, blinding sun, Omi did not say anything about perhaps changing their course slightly less sunward.

"｢Did you really make a decision?｣" the dragon asked abruptly, and Omi almost made the mistake of looking up in surprise. The spots in his vision had only just throbbed away into nothingness.

"｢I am not sure what else you would call it.｣"

Dojo continued his thoughtful undulations through the thin air. "｢It's just...I didn't get to hear your reasons.｣"

"｢It was the correct course of action,｣" Omi mumbled to the scales underneath. "｢We need to collect the Shen Gong Wu no matter what. And someone will attack that temple. It was best to leave.｣"

"｢I dunno,｣" said Dojo. "｢Sounds like we coulda done plenty of other things. Like, we coulda stayed behind. Maybe got everybody out of there before anything bad happened.｣"

"｢That is not what we do.｣"

"｢Well, I dunno about  _that,_ ｣" Dojo said, his shrug traveling down his tail. "｢Sounds exactly like the sort of stuff you monk-types do – ｣"

"｢Well it is  _not_ what we do  _here_ ,｣" Omi spat. His liquid words would have landed on the scales below him if it weren't for the fact that they were flying several miles per hour. In retrospect, it was a mistake.

"｢Okay, but  _why?_ ｣"

Omi set a hand to his forehead and slowly pulled it down, a gesture of frustration less prone to air resistance. "｢It just  _simply does not happen._  What do you want me to say?｣"

"｢I want you to tell me your reasons for making this decision. I mean, you  _did_  make a decision, right?｣" Dojo's voice sounded like it was giving Omi a judgmental look, a talent that Dojo had perfected through years of dealing with long lines of monks after one too many crashes while trying to hold a flying conversation. It was a useful talent, if not something that was particularly endearing at the moment.

"｢I have been  _telling_ you the reason,｣" Omi said, and to his embarrassment, his voice rose to a pitch that showed off just how young he was. "｢The future is how it is! Everything just  _happens_  this way! It is meant to be!｣"

Dojo halted so suddenly that Omi could hear his scales screaming against the air like asphalt. He would have been thrown off if it weren't for Dojo's tail, which hadn't gotten the message and instead plowed into the rest of his body like an extremely clumsy conga line. Omi was briefly crushed within the folds of the large, serpentine body, his various items digging sharply into his chest, until Dojo finally straightened himself out again. It would be nice, he realized, if Dashi had made all his mystical items with less  _angles._

"｢'Meant to be?' You think it's ' _meant to be?'_ ｣" And this time, Dojo was staring at him; his thick brow had always made him look slightly disgruntled in his larger form, but now they had furrows large enough to entertain mountain goats.

Omi leaned back but kept his face forward. "｢It is what the Crystal Glasses – ｣"

"｢Do you think that the Xiaolin Temple getting wiped off the map was 'meant to be?' That  _everybody dying_ was 'meant to be?!'｣"

The way that Dojo waved his arms around in time with his words sent undulations down his body, forcing Omi to clutch onto his perch and grit his teeth. "｢ _That_  is separate from  _this._ ｣"

"｢ _Is_ it? If you knew what would happen back then like you do now, would you  _really_  do nothing about it?｣"

Dojo kept leaning in closer and closer, his body in an unnaturally tight curve. Omi shut his eyes so tight that his cheeks twinged with pain, which only grew more intense as he shouted, "｢I only wished to know the correct path to take!｣"

A pause. And then Omi felt muscles slacken underneath. Opening his eyes, he saw that Dojo was looking ahead again, though their speed had not increased at all.

"｢The Crystal Glasses lets you see into the future,｣" Dojo intoned. The contrast between the low, level tone now and the loud roar from before was too intense that it made Omi's ears ring. "｢But the only thing that exists is the present. The future doesn't exist. It can always be changed.｣"

"｢But I do not  _want_ the future to change!｣" At this, Dojo tilted his head towards Omi, who realized that this wasn't the best way to put his thoughts into words. Fiddling with his fingers, he said, "｢I mean...I just want the future to be  _certain._  Why can it not be that things stay the  _same?_ ｣" 'The only thing constant is change,' or so he had been told, but this was too much. He was sick of it. And now the one thing that he could use to be certain of everything, now  _that_ could change too?

His cheeks were burning again, but this time with something else. As though respecting discretion, Dojo turned his head forward again.

"｢You can't be afraid of making decisions, Omi. Not now.｣" There was no wind. No clouds. Nothing moving other than them, no company besides the sun blazing ahead with vigor. "｢Choose. Tell me what you actually want to do. Don't just parrot what you see.｣"

Already, Omi's fingers were itching for his robes. He could feel the Crystal Glasses burning against his chest, as though they were the sun itself, wrapping tight around his body, poking and blistering his skin, promising answers to any question, it wasn't like Dojo was looking, it wasn't like anybody would know, and that was the point anyways, to know before anybody else could know, to never be surprised  _ever again_.

Omi heaved a weak, shuddering sigh as his fingers dug into Dojo's scales. "｢Turn around.｣"

* * *

When Omi burst back into the main building of the Temple of All Religions, holding the Crystal Glasses like an offering, he wasn't too surprised by much of the scene before him. He expected to see all the Russian monks surrounding Boris, he expected some tears, and maybe the policewoman he didn't expect but it wasn't surprising, even if she looked like the only reason she was here was because she lost a bet.

Boris placed himself behind one of the bearded monks, glancing at Omi only to quickly avert his eyes. His legs were bent like an Olympic runner preparing to sprint. That wasn't surprising, even if it did hurt. What was surprising was who he always averted his eyes to. What was surprising was that there was someone else here Omi recognized.

" _There_  you are." The cook gruffly pulled the Crystal Glasses away, his unnecessary roughness conveying any disappointment that his voice couldn't. "This? This not yours," he continued, and though he shook the faceted glasses in front of his eyes, Omi couldn't focus on them at all. "Stealing, is bad. Do not." Still kneeling in front of Omi, the robust cook plopped the Crystal Glasses back into Boris' hands. The young boy in turn glanced one last time at Omi, eyes wide, and fled.

" _I eto vse?_ " asked the policewoman, and another monk nodded as she ripped out the notes she had just recently scrawled down and crumpled the paper as she stuffed it in her pockets. A third was talking to a pair of people who were standing off to the side, dressed brightly and looking out of place against the plain robes of the monks. One of them was a very smiley man, young, a full head of scruffy hair, with a notepad of his own.

The cook hadn't finished his lecture. "You see what trouble you cause? Police come for nothink. Do not do bad things."

But Omi wasn't listening. His eyes trailed off to the woman besides the smiling man. She was in a much different outfit, tight jeans, a casually loose and low-cut shirt that revealed a very colorful dragon tattoo draped around her shoulders. And her hands held a camera, a professionally bulky thing that contrasted his image of her so much that his mind almost refused to recognize her. But there was the cropped, black hair. There were the eyes as sharp as chainsaws. Staring straight at him.

" _Eto proiskhodit ne chasto,_ " the third monk said, chuckling. The man with the notepad laughed easily, blatantly showing no sign of acknowledging anybody else even as the woman nudged him and surreptitiously pointed a finger at Omi and then another in the direction Boris ran.

Omi really felt like joining him.

 


	8. Choice

"｢But how did they  _find_ us?｣" Omi hissed to his sleeve in the relative safety of the kitchen. Out the nearest window, he could still see  _them_ being led around in a tour. The very smiley man dogging the heels of his guides and jotting down notes. The Cantonese woman with the dragon tattoo, taking pictures of everything. She aimed her camera directly into the kitchen, and Omi immediately dropped back to the floor.

Peering out of his perch, Dojo said, "｢Well, I mean flying above a populated area, I guess it's inevitable I'd be seen? Someone could've seen us just now, when we left and came back. Someone could've even seen us back when we first got here...｣"

"｢...And so this building was targeted because of us...｣" Omi let his head lean back until it thunked dully against a cupboard door.

As he stared at the ceiling with a shaky sigh, Dojo wound his way up his arm and curled around his shoulder. "｢Hey, c'mon buddy, buck up! That's why we're here, right? To make sure nothing bad happens?｣" Describing what could possibly happen as 'bad' was a dire understatement, and both of them knew from experience. The unsaid implications turned the air heavy with the smell of iron and dust. Dojo tried to cough it away. "｢I mean, the situation's  _totally_ different. We're not in some mountain, we're in a city with  _loads_ of witnesses. That means their hands are tied, right? What's the worst they could do?｣"

The grain of wood on the ceiling beams formed outlines. Omi looked downwards, but the floor was no better, with tiles outlined by tiles, empty, geometric shapes that were much too orderly, insultingly so. He closed his eyes.

"｢Dojo...are you really sure we can change what will happen...?｣"

"｢What're ya talking about? Of course!｣" Dojo's nervous chuckle was quickly taken into an alleyway and beaten with blackjacks. He swallowed the rest of his laugh down and tapped his claws together as though trying to split them in half. "｢I mean...the only thing the Crystal Glasses can do is take all available information from the very moment you use 'em and follow it to a logical conclusion about the future. The further into the future you look, the shakier its predictions can be, so doing something different than what it calculates'll change  _everything,_  y'know?｣" Seeing no change of expression, Dojo's encouraging smile dropped and he pursed his lips.

"｢Okay. Think of it like this. If we were time-traveling from the future and went back here knowing all the bad things that happened or will happen or whatever, then we change something, the future would obviously change, right?｣"

Omi's eyes finally slid open and he nodded lethargically.

"｢Right. So why can't looking in the future be the same thing? It's like time-traveling, except you're going forward, and it's only your eyes I guess. So your eyes travel forward, sees how bad things go, then they travel back and it's like you're from the future! Then you _don't_  do the things that you see in the future and bam! Different future!｣" Dojo, getting a little too excited about his own explanation, almost smacked Omi in the cheek. But it was tough to hold a little frenetic arm-waving against him when he was just trying so hard.

Still, the scars of past absences and the threat of future absences dragged him down, paralyzed him, pressed on his ribs with the weight of the ocean. "｢But...what if when I used the Crystal Glasses, it took into consideration that I was using the Crystal Glasses and thus knew that I would – ｣"

"｢I'm gonna stop you right there,｣" and indeed, Dojo reached over to clamp Omi's lips shut, "｢'cause it doesn't work like that, the Glasses don't assume you're using them when you use them 'cause then your decisions are gonna change based on what you see, so then what's it gonna show you? It's gonna be completely unreliable!｣"

Omi carefully extracted his mouth from Dojo's claws. "｢From what you are telling me, it is already quite unreliable.｣"

"｢Well I – ｣" Dojo's mouth fluttered open longer than he had words to give, and he was left tugging at his beard and mumbling. "｢I – I mean...it's still real good for...short-term future stuff...a-and knowing lottery numbers...｣"

"｢It is alright,｣" said Omi, and was that twitch a smile? Shaking the feeling back into his legs, he stood up once more. "｢You have convinced me.｣"

"｢Oh, good. Uh. Convinced you of what?｣"

Before he left the kitchen, Omi glanced back outside and caught a glimpse of another camera flash. "｢I must endeavor to prevent what I saw from happening and...plan a course of action with Boris.｣"

"｢Why the hesitation?｣" Dojo whispered out of the corner of his mouth now that they were moving to a more public area. Omi's steps were measured, as though his shoes were caked with chewed gum, and the lack of jostling was almost worrying. Perching on people was like riding a car in dire need of good suspension; usually, at least.

The hallway towards the bedroom was empty, and thus seemed to stretch to forever, walls receding away from Omi as though he were a leper. He lowered his head even though (or because) nobody was around. "｢I...am afraid to talk to him.｣"

* * *

The door to the room that they had stayed in for the past couple of days was shut. Not just shut, but more shut than shut. If that was possible. Omi had to take a breath before he knocked, and he ended up holding it the whole time he waited for an answer.

The only result was Omi's burning lungs. He took in fresh oxygen. "Boris? It is us, Omi and Dojo. I w-would like to...discuss? To you, about...ah...things...and stuff..."

Muffled through layers of wall and a hint of pillow, Boris' voice retorted, "You cannot coom een."

He expected that, of course. It was justified, of course. Boris' opinions of his moral character didn't matter, of course. But still, the words and the force behind them slid their way through Omi's ribs as smoothly as a sword being sheathed. Omi had to take a moment to remind his breath to be deep and controlled.

Glancing over his shoulder, he said, "Th-that is all good. I am okay with that. I merely wish to say my apology for my not condonable behavior." Dojo, who had taken it upon himself to keep watch over Wuya's lackeys from the nearby window, gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. It was rather unclear whether it meant that the supposed journalist duo were still outside or that he should continue what he was saying. To be efficient, Omi assumed he meant both. "I should not have forcibly taken the...Crystal Glasses, and I should not have said what I did say."

The humidity within the hallway seemed to have dropped significantly throughout his whole sentence. Omi was left gulping non-existent saliva as he waited for an answer. Once again, he was met with only silence.

He was forced to speak again, if only in hopes that his voice would somehow bring some moisture back into the air. "I am here also because I feel it is my obligation to make sure every person here is safe from malevolent forces a-and, um, we should discuss of what to do with, um, the Crystal Glasses? If you do not mind?"

Omi's conversation with the door did not appear to move it in any way. The grains of wood spiraled in disdain, like especially warped eyes, and he glanced away, unwilling to engage in a staring contest.

There was still nothing but silence, which was answer enough at this point, but Omi still couldn't help but ask, "Have...you been listening to me...?"

A squeaky "Yes" eased its way through the door's hinges. That one instance of human interaction was enough to fill Omi's lungs to capacity because at least his words weren't falling on deaf ears.

"I oonderstand," Boris continued, and Omi could hear it quaver even with the door in the way. "Sank you for ze apolojee, but you steel cannot coom een."

"Oh." Omi visibly drooped, but his voice cracked into something still optimistic and supportive. "We can still work out a plan, if you like, I will help in any way – "

" _Non, non,"_ Boris hurriedly said, "I meant, I 'ave some'ow pooshed ze desk een front of ze door and I...do not sink I can, ah, move eet again."

Omi paused. Now that he thought about it, there was no lock on this door, so it  _was_ a little strange for Boris to come here for safety. He pushed on the door and it thunked into the desk with a satisfying percussive sound, something so wonderfully dull and stupid that it was hard not to laugh, so Omi didn't bother trying to stop himself. He laughed so hard that it almost startled Dojo off the windowsill and the dragon peered more carefully at him than he did at the two goons outside.

It took a while for him to stop because laughing was good, laughing made the whole situation brighter, and it had felt like a long time since he even thought about laughing. Even when he settled down, he had trouble stifling his smile. His expression looked ebulliently strained, a tense combination that was in danger of exploding into laughter again.

"If you stand back, I may be able to kick the door open."

"Oh, eef you would...please wait? I am sinking on a... _dilemme troublant..."_  There was something in Boris' words, the way that he couldn't understand all of them, perhaps, or the way that he pronounced his 'r's like he was struggling with phlegm, that told Omi that he shouldn't ask questions. But whatever it was, he really ought to think fast.

"You are really so confadeent zat you can opeen zis door?"

"I...excuse me?" When he said he was thinking on something, Omi thought he meant the  _silent_  sort of thinking. What's with the sudden interrogation about his physical aptitude? How was he really supposed to know if he could before he tried? He didn't know the exact weight of the door, or the exact weight of the desk, or the way that the desk was placed in front of the door or  _anything._  With no way to accurately respond, Omi resorted to babbling. "Well, ah, I believe...at most, it require two kicks...?"

"Okay. Show me."

This was  _really_  throwing him for a loop now. Was Boris done with thinking already? Or was this still part of the...'dill am true blan' he was talking about? Except he  _told_  him not to kick the door open because of the whatever it was he was thinking about. Was this a test? He was used to tests. Maybe this was one of those tests where someone told him to do one thing but he was really supposed to do something else? Except he could hear Boris scrabbling away from the door, obviously not wanting to get a face full of it should it miraculously open.

But even in his confusion, Omi was instinctively backing up because if there was one thing he was good at, it was kicking, not figuring out hidden meanings in tense social situations. And honestly, he would rather do the former than the latter – if it was the wrong thing to do, then at least he would know for next time, right?

At this point, he was already running straight for the door. His body took over his mind, springing naturally into a move that had been drilled into his muscle memory long ago. Just before the door he planted his left leg down while his momentum carried over into his right leg which moved at an upward angle, twisting his body, pulling the entire force behind his weight into his foot. It finally connected with the door with a solid  _thwack,_  a definite sound that couldn't  _not_ throw the door open halfway even as the desk screeched and dragged on the floor.

There was nothing unusual about the room on the other side, besides the tilted desk, but once Omi caught sight of Boris, perched on his usual spot on the top bunk, his guts twisted with the expectation of upcoming tension. Boris didn't look hurt. He was smiling, in fact, but his smile felt like it was for someone other than himself. His real emotion was held in his eyebrows, which were twisted upwards, pinned by worries of the future.

"You are very strong," Boris commented, cradling the Crystal Glasses in his lap. Omi glanced at the door as he walked into the room. It hadn't caved in or anything. He might be limping a few hours later.

"Thank you?" Somehow, Omi thought he could feel the chainsaw stare of the Cantonese woman through the stone walls and so he turned to close the door again, waiting only long enough for Dojo to squeeze in. This really didn't seem like the time to be taking compliments, but still he added, "I trained my body for the whole of my life, so such feats are quite simple for me."

"I can see." Boris did not appear to be holding a conversation with Omi at all. Instead, he was staring intently at his faceted reflection within the lens of the Glasses. As he lost himself in this examination, his faint smile fell apart, unable to keep up the facade with all the brainpower devoted to something else. "Een ze church, we deed not train pheeseecally. What I was taught was ze word of God, you see. Ozzer zen zat, I deed nosing eemportant." A wry smile twitched its way onto Boris' face, but only for a moment. "Not very good at much, you see."

There it was, the tension that his gut predicted, and knowing it was coming didn't make it any softer. Omi's mouth dried up before he could think of anything to say, and so he was left gaping like a stranded fish, his mind grasping for the words that weren't there. Should he apologize again for everything he had said? He barely even remembered it at all (and how could he, when the words flew out of his mouth before stopping at his brain?), only remembered that he had tried to say the most hurtful things he could think of.

Well, it certainly had worked.

Dojo didn't seem similarly encumbered at all, or if he was, then he was used to having an incredibly dry mouth. As Omi stood ramrod still, accumulating a clammy sweat, Dojo swirled up to Boris' side, his voice instinctively ready to give the audio equivalent of a long, soft hug (soon after accompanied by an actual, physical hug). "Noo, nooo, it's okay, kiddo," he began, signaling the beginning of his Sad Bald Kid Red Alert mode. "You're still young, alright? You're just figuring things out. It's okay to not know what you're good at yet...I mean, you haven't even experienced a full decade! You just gotta keep learning new things, find the stuff you like to do, right?" A hug from Dojo was a little like wearing an extremely forward headset. The dragon had always seemed to function under the belief that sadness was something you gently rubbed off the top of people's heads. The only thing that prevented him from outright nuzzling was Boris' owlishly large glasses.

"I guess," Boris mumbled as he tried to discreetly lean away from Dojo, only to find it difficult to lean away from something that was attached to his head.

"And besides," Dojo continued, his voice gradually taking on an inconsistent, watery quality as time went on, "you – you are  _so_ important, d-don't  _ever_  think otherwise...my life wouldn't've been th' same wi-w-without you, kid! Y-you've helped us out  _s-so_ mu-much, an-and, with th' maps 'n' stuff, and, and..."

As was usual with Dojo's Sad Bald Kid Red Alert mode, it ended with him in more tears than the Sad Bald Kid. Boris found himself with a hysterical dragon sobbing on top of his head. Relatedly, he also found himself with a slightly damp head.

Omi hopped up next to Boris and gave a look that was at once sympathetic and apologetic at the same time as he peeled Dojo off with practiced ease. The dragon oozed in Omi's arms like a wailing lump of jelly, now completely unable to hold back the emotions that his own pep talk was meant to inspire in Boris. Omi placed a nearby pillow under Dojo's head and he dove into it with gusto, letting it soak up all the various fluids from his face. And with his wracking sobs muffled, Omi found it easy to ignore him.

Boris didn't.

"Ees 'e...alright...?" he finally asked, and he would have probably looked worried if he didn't look so weirded out.

"He calms down soon, this happens sometimes." This answer only made Boris' mouth twist further into confusion, but he accepted it and instead turned his attention to wiping his head dry.

To the soundtrack of vaguely inspirational phrases stuttered out through heaving sobs and a pillow, Omi finally found something to say.

"I believe that you have done something most important, even if you do not think so."

Boris made a noncommittal sound, potentially indicating that he was listening.

"In your position," Omi continued carefully, peering at the younger child from the corner of his eyes, "I would have considered it a great honor to be chosen to guard and protect what you know as the gift of God. Such a task is not a light."

"'No light matter,'" Dojo half-blubbered before blowing his nose on the pillowcase with such a loud sound that it was a wonder that he didn't come away with his entire snout missing.

Boris curled up more, tucking his head behind his knees. He looked like he was ready to simply roll away. "I was only chosen because ze sing I am only good at is rooning away."

By the way that his  _Jieba_  markings tensed and ached, Omi could tell that this might have come up in his morning outburst. "N-no, that is not – "

" _Merci,_  but please do not lie for ze sake of my feelings. I am not..." A sigh somehow much larger than he was escaped from Boris, the sort of sigh that shuddered like a collapsing iceberg. "I...am not like you. I am not strong or brave. I merely 'appened to be ze youngest een my monastery and everybody zere 'appened to be much old. Eet was a matter of convenience, not qualeefeecation."

"But to have protected it thus far – "

"And 'ow far weel rooning take me?" The tone in Boris' voice stung in Omi's eyes with all the bitterness of citrus juice, as though he had peeled a grapefruit wrong and was now paying the consequences. Boris raised his head slightly, setting his chin on his knees. "I cannot conteenue to do zis...not wiz... _zem_  on pursuit. Even sinking about eet, I...I'm...eet's too..."

Boris' voice cracked along with his face, and it was a huge effort to pave over both. Omi watched the process with guilty dread until the boy beside him pushed everything into pure smoothness.

"I want you to take ze geeft of God."

"Look, we can work this out!" Dojo said with minimal precipitation. "You can still come with us. That way, you can keep watching over the Crystal Glasses, and we can protect you! We can make sure you're safe – "

"I don't want eet."

For a moment, the cracks in Boris' face opened up again, but he quickly dammed them up. "I was only told to hide. I deed not expect to be chased. I don't want eet. I hate eet. I...I weesh I was a better person, but I'm not. Everybody at 'ome troosted me to protect eet, and I promeesed, but now zat I know what zat means, I am going to...roon away."

With a limp gesture, the Crystal Glasses drooped from his hand into Omi's lap. The young Buddhist didn't dare hold them. The faceted lens gleamed up at him, looking more and more like the eyes of vermin, something completely awful that he couldn't even think of touching, not now.

"Please leave. As soon as posseeble."

Dojo hinged his mouth open and closed for a little while before saying meekly, "W-we can't just leave with those goons still out there...I mean, they'd try and follow us..."

Boris stared at the floor, one bed down, then stared out the window where little bits of Russian could still be heard drifting through the careless air. Outside, the Russian monks were still giving the tour, and everybody could see the small group from their vantage point, shuffling from one point to another, movements punctuated by the flash of a camera that always seemed to be aimed at specifically mundane things like walls and windows. The window itself mostly provided a view of the unfinished building with the unfinished windows, and this was where Boris' eyes wandered.

Outside, the Russian monks laughed at a joke, and the two self-claimed journalists laughed at something other than a joke.

"I weel 'elp you," said Boris.

* * *

Omi only remembered about the stained glass when Boris led him straight to the bucket outside. Yesterday, there was a Russian monk setting pieces of these colored glass around the window. Today, the glass and the accompanying glue were left abandoned, no doubt because of the impromptu tour for the impromptu guests. With no responsible adult to say no, Boris plopped down on the ground, took off his glasses, and started to slather glue all over the lenses.

Dojo, the closest thing to a responsible adult, stretched himself over Boris' shoulder. "You'll ruin your glasses like that," he commented, much in the way of a stranger with an umbrella watching someone else struggle in the rain.

"I know," said Boris. "Do you mind 'elping me to find blue pieces of glass, please?"

There wasn't much for them to do besides what he asked. The pieces of glass were all carefully dull, but Dojo and Omi still were ginger with their hands as they dug through the colorful collection. Every time they found a blue piece, Boris would quietly take it and set it on his glasses, tapping it until the glue engulfed it. It was like a mural – a very small, very boring, very monochrome mural. And very amateur, in the end. When Boris finally covered all that he could, the result was something that looked like the dregs of an elementary school art show. But it was ultimately recognizable. Omi sucked in a breath.

"What are you planning to do?" he demanded, as Boris balanced the newly-faceted lens in the sun to dry out the glue a little.

"We need to be sure zey weel leave zis place alone and not 'urt ze peopool 'ere," said Boris, focusing all his energy into staring at his now useless glasses. "But you need to be able to escape wizout being chased. I can lure zem away wiz a decoy and you can use ze time to go."

"But then they'll be chasing  _you!_ " Dojo blurted out, his claws already grabbing for the makeshift decoy. Omi clamped his snout shut and gave a quick glance around the corner of the building, but the woman with the chainsaw smile and her associate seemed to be on the other side of the grounds. When he turned back, he saw Boris clutching his glasses close to his chest, knuckles too tight for the thin wires.

"But as soon as zey realize zat I do not 'ave what zey want, zen zey weel not boser wiz me, right?"

His questioning lilt was echoed by the shape of his eyebrows, a query that was desperate for an affirmative. This was the only plan they had that would get the goons away from innocent people while also having them not follow the location of the Crystal Glasses. It was also a plan that was incredibly naïve. Sickeningly naïve. Even as Boris' brow curled, waiting for them to answer, his eyes were already certain of it, that yes, this was how the world worked, this was the exact psychology of people who were Bad Guys: one-track minds seeking to do as little collateral damage as possible. He really didn't have a clear understanding of the world after all.

That sounded like another thing he might have shouted at Boris not too long ago. Well...that turned out to be true, Omi supposed, but it certainly wasn't the kind of truth that needed to be hurtful. Boris' naivety was almost enviable, in a way; still able to thrive even in an arid environment full of self-deprecation.

"No, absolutely not," Dojo said, his folded arms as sharp as his teeth. "This plan is  _completely_  – no offense or anything – "

"This is a good plan."

The rest of Dojo's sentence died in his throat and the corpse came out in a body bag filled with coughs. " _What?!_ "

"I would like to ask, however, where are you planning to go afterwards?"

"Woah, woah,  _woah!_  I am  _not_ done voicing my outraged objections yet!"

"I am...not shore," Boris said over Dojo's increasingly hysterical and desperate screeching. Omi eventually reached over and clamped his mouth shut once more. This time, he kept on babbling, incoherently muffled. Boris managed to continue nonetheless. "Ze only place I know of is 'ome...but zat ees far, and everybody zere weel be very deesappointed een me. After all...I've 'anded ze geeft of God over to an outsider. I've fallen to cowardice."

Omi let go of Dojo's mouth to reach into his robes, but stopped when his mind caught up and asked him exactly what he was planning to do.

He didn't know.

Too many variables were whirling around in his head. The safety of the Crystal Glasses. How ruthless Wuya's allies really were. The trustworthiness of the only sanctuary he knew. Boris' feelings. Whenever he tried to think of the best possible outcome, one variable would conflict with the others and the future would unfold in front of him, a paralyzingly vast abyss that left him with no handholds, no semblance of control, nothing that gave him any way to discern the right course of action.

He would have to wing it.

"Wherever you decide to go," said Omi, finally pulling his hand out of his robes, "please use this for your travel."

On the ground between them, Omi set down the Crouching Cougar. Boris' eyes widened, mostly from bafflement. Dojo finally stopped talking enough to gape.

" _E-excusez-moi?"_

"The Crouching Cougar," Omi continued, ignoring both reactions, "is a vehicle Shen Gong Wu. All you need to do is call the name and he will transform into a larger, moving form. You would have to use it with no witnesses, but it should help you travel."

"B-but why are you geeving eet to  _me?_ " Boris squeaked, his hands reaching for the Wu only by instinct.

Omi patted a still-frozen Dojo on his head. "I already have transportation that can transform into a larger form," he replied, allowing a fond smile. "I do not require this Shen Gong Wu as much as you do."

"I-I, um,  _merci,_  but  _si vous plait,_  you said – "

When Omi ripped out a page from the atlas, Dojo and Boris jolted as though they had heard a gunshot. "There is a place I know that you may go to, if you do not want to go back to where you call home. The Shaolin Monastery always welcomes visitors and will be happy to house you. Dojo, do you mind marking the spot on this map?"

"Uh, um, sure?" Dojo had been using a red pen to mark the various maps before, but now he held it between his claws like one would hold an angry snake – carefully, and looking rather baffled about why it was in his hands in the first place. Still, he had the presence of mind to accurately mark where the Shaolin Monastery was. Boris received the torn page with similar trepidation and confusion.

"I steel do not oonderstand – "

"Before we begin, I would like to take a closer look at the decoy, please. I would like to be sure that it may be as foolish as we need it to be." The combination of Omi's fast talking as well as his mangled English put Boris' mind in enough of a whirl to just simply hand over his glasses without comment.

Up close, the decoy glasses were really,  _really_ shoddy. But it didn't need to be seen up close at all for it to do its job, it just had to look approximately right from a distance, maybe shine in the light in the right way, and then Wuya's allies would follow whoever had this to the ends of the Earth. Or, at least, to the end of something.

The sounds of a completely normal and jovial tour was escalating in volume. Boris peeked around the corner of the building. "Eef you do not mind me saying so, eet may be a good idea to start ze plan now?"

He was correct, of course. It was best to go through with it now. After taking one last glance between the two pairs of glasses, Omi patted Boris on the shoulder. "You have done well," he said, and simultaneously he tucked the Crystal Glasses into Boris' hand.

Boris instinctively pulled away, his hand unwrapping, but Omi's grip on his wrist was strong without being rough and it held down the Glasses tight in his palm. This was wrong. Boris now knew absolutely that everything weird leading up to this point was some sort of set-up, and his eyes glistened with suspicion of what that set-up was for, but still his mouth quavered out, "W-wait, zis ees ze wrong glasses,  _mon frère_ , I-I'm supposed to be ze decoy..."

Omi's eyes locked with his, and he froze with the sheer look of sincerity and warmth, something that seemed almost foreign coming from Omi, but really, it was more like a tourist just coming home. The sounds of the Russian monks leading around the disguised goons were still approaching, but somehow they seemed to be approaching away from them, if that made sense. Omi continued to stare.

"You are brave. You are good. I truly believe in this plan, and that it is the best way to keep the Crystal Glasses safe. And the best way to keep  _you_  safe. I am sorry for everything."

Dojo witnessed this, and his stance warmed and loosened around Omi's shoulders. He looked between the two with a careful sort of grin, which twitched a little wider whenever he looked at Omi's face. There was a hidden glow in Omi's expression, something beautiful in its conception that the dragon was sure would grow in time. It was the beginning of enlightenment, or at least one kind of enlightenment.

"Please have faith in yourself. I am not sure when we will meet again, but we surely shall, and I dearly hope it will be soon."

Omi took his hand away, and the Crystal Glasses stayed within Boris' loose grasp as he stuttered on with a loose jaw. "I – "

Omi pushed Boris roughly to the ground.

It wasn't really something Boris expected, and the rest of his intended words came out in an inelegant squawk as he bounced off the snow. Opening his eyes, he could vaguely see the figures of the Russian monks hurrying over towards him, already shouting out questions of his well-being. Behind the group trailed the so-called journalists, eyeing the place where he was pushed from: behind the building.

He clutched the Crystal Glasses tight until it threatened to cut into his hand and jerked his head back towards where Omi was, but all he saw was a flash of green moving upwards. Somewhere nearby came the gasp of several Russian monks as they hustled to a stop and gaped at the sky at the giant, flying dragon and the little boy riding him, holding something that didn't exactly look like a mystical artifact capable of seeing into the future, but sure as heck glinted like one.

The only people who weren't paralyzed with shock were the two goons, who immediately sprang into action. While the man pulled out a phone and started shouting into it, the woman sprang, her legs uncoiling with such force that she landed right on top of the surrounding walls. Somehow, there was a gun already in her hand, and she was firing as accurately as she could. Outside the grounds of the temple, more shots could be heard coming from previously-hidden cars, all containing mysteriously well-armed individuals.

But the bullets simply could not catch up to the green streak in the sky, which was already winding away, clear out of the city. The woman with the dragon tattoo spat something that sounded like a curse and disappeared down the other side of the wall while the man barked more orders and ran out the door just as a symphony of squealing tires started up, and all the previously-hidden cars containing mysteriously well-armed individuals screeched away after their target.

The group of Russian monks stood, still staring at that spot in the sky, like a little cluster of trees. One of them collapsed.

* * *

"｢Do not lose them until they have followed us out of town,｣" Omi tried to yell against the wind, but the words simply flew back in his face. Dojo seemed to have the right idea, though, as he wasn't even going his top speed yet. Once in a while, the cars below would open fire and the bullets would whiz by and Omi would clutch at the scales underneath even tighter, but Dojo just maintained his speed, even though every near miss would cause him to jolt faster for a few seconds. Soon, the buildings below gave way to open road. Dojo managed to lose the cars in five seconds – it took the first four to accelerate safely.

Still, he didn't slow down until they were clear into rural territory, and even then, he only did it for the sake of Omi's poor fingernails. Even for a trained Xiaolin monk, there was only so much any person could endure when it came to hanging on to a dragon on the verge of breaking the sound barrier.

"｢I think we're good for a while now,｣" he said.

Omi took several consecutive breaths that weren't forced down his throat by wind resistance before daring to sit up normally again. The glasses in his hands had come dangerously close to snapping but had miraculously kept together. He cradled them in his arms as they cruised, scratching at the various pieces of glass that obscured its true function.

"｢Dojo?｣" he started, scooting closer to the dragon's ears. "｢Do you think that I have made the right decision...?｣"

Dojo heaved a sigh that severely inconvenienced a flock of birds. "｢I really don't know. But,｣" he added before Omi could droop, "｢I think you made a good decision.｣"

Honestly, Omi wasn't really sure that a good decision was really any better than the right decision, but Dojo's voice had all the gravitas of one of Master Fung's old lectures, and so he accepted it as something at least meant to be wise.

"｢I am sorry that I have dragged us into a most unfortunate situation. You may have been right.｣"

"｢Uh, sorry, what are we talking about now?｣"

One of the glass pieces finally gave in to Omi's constant prying and it fell somewhere below them. "｢I am speaking of when...when I first decided to leave the Shaolin Monastery. You expressed doubts that this was the right decision. I now suspect that you were correct.｣"

"｢Oh, that?｣" Dojo replied, scratching at his nose. "｢I mean...I can't say if anything's the right or wrong decision, kid. Well, I mean, I can say somethings are  _definitely_  wrong. Putting pineapples on pizza?  _Totally_  wrong. I mean, who even thought of that! But leaving the Shaolin Monastery?｣" Dojo heaved another sigh, softer, one that merely ruffled the snow off a few trees below them. "｢Deciding if  _that's_  ultimately right or wrong is a decision I can't make.｣"

"｢Oh.｣" Omi's ears buzzed with the ambivalent answer and he tried to swallow the bubbling feelings in his throat.

"｢Look, here's what I think,｣" Dojo said after a thoughtful pause. "｢I've traveled the world with Dashi before. He didn't have to, but he did, and I had to fly him, of course. And let me tell you, back then, he was a real jerk, like a  _huge_  pain in the butt, which is  _really_  worse when you happen to have a huge butt.｣"

Omi immediately straightened, his brow stormy. "｢Dojo – ｣"

"｢Yeah, yeah, I know, 'Grandmaster Dashi is a hero of the ages,' and he  _was,_  but he was also rude, cocky,  _really_  stupid, and had this habit of picking his teeth when you're trying to talk to him and tell him things like 'phoenix eggs are not a toy, Dashi,  _stop juggling them,_ ' or 'no, diving down this waterfall is a  _really bad idea,_  Dashi,' or 'when I said don't embarrass me in front of my parents, that meant  _don't do the chopstick trick_ ' and whenever he did it he'd always just smiiiile and nod, right? Like he was actually listening but of  _course_  he wasn't and now I'm  _still_  not invited to family reunions and – ｣"

" _｢_ _Dojo._ ｣"

The dragon slowly unclenched his fists. "｢Sorry. The point was, uh, y'know...when we were traveling together? He met people. He saw how everybody and everything lives, he experienced civilizations at their best and worst, and...it really made him into a good person. The kinda guy who would save the world. Even if he still did that teeth-picking thing. So I guess what I'm trying to say is, y'know...｣" Dojo rubbed at his claw as though he were fiddling with a ring. "｢I dunno if it was the right decision, but I think whatever happens on this journey...and I'm not saying that, like, good things will happen...but I think...seeing the world'll do good for you.｣"

The dragon suddenly grimaced, a facial expression that vibrated down his body. "｢Sorry. Was that weird?｣"

Omi shook his head, even though Dojo couldn't possibly see, and he looked down at Boris' glasses.

They were as fake as ever. But somehow, he felt like he could see the future.

It was something to look forward to.

 


	9. A Flash from the Future

"｢If you stare at that map any harder, it might combust.｣"

Omi blinked and finally looked up to where Dojo was stoking a small fire. After a moment's hesitation, he said, "｢I do not believe I have that ability.｣"

"｢That was a – never mind. Wha'cha thinking about?｣"

As the dragon wrapped himself closer towards Omi, the boy buried his head back in the atlas. He had given the page that was focused on China to Boris, but there were still maps of Asia in general, and he could recognize the regions well enough. "｢The woman with Wuya spoke in Cantonese. I believe this will prove useful in pinpointing the location of Wuya's new ally.｣"

"｢What, you mean that guy with the,｣" and here, Dojo cupped his claws around his head in the manner that Omi had shown him earlier. The monk nodded.

"｢Because she speaks Cantonese, she is likely to be from the south, somewhere around the  _Guangdong_ Province. Um...is that correct?｣"

"｢Well, there're some other possibilities, actually. Like Macau and...hmm...｣" Tugging at his beard, Dojo added, "｢You remember that vision you had? Couldja see out the windows?｣"

The answer was yes, but Omi's tongue slipped over a speed bump regardless. He had been a little more interested in the unfamiliar boy that had (will?) stood beside him and the stout man who will (had?) aim one of those detestable weapons at him. All he remembered about the windows was that they provided ambient light in the form of neon.

Seeing Omi's hesitation, Dojo backed off. "｢It's okay if you don't remember...I mean, whatever you saw isn't gonna happen for – ｣"

"｢I remember bright signs,｣" Omi insisted, setting the heavy book down to tap at his knees. "｢I...the signs said something...but...I do not remember exactly...｣"

Dojo's ears perked up and he straightened out like a golf club. "｢But you remember you could read 'em?｣"

"｢Well, yes, but if I cannot – ｣"

"｢That means the signs were in Traditional, not Simplified...a combination of Cantonese speaker with the Traditional writing system...it's  _definitely_  either Macau or Hong Kong.｣"

It was always a mystery how a 1500-year-old dragon who mostly kept himself in a temple built in a secluded place in the mountains was able to keep up with modern knowledge, but whatever his sources, they always seemed to be relatively accurate.

"｢Actually, another question – any of these signs have, maybe, some other languages on 'em...?｣"

"｢I, um, no?｣"

Dojo cocked an eyebrow. "｢Don't sound too sure of yourself, buddy.｣"

Omi closed his eyes and took a deep breath before plunging into his memory once more. The view of the windows were still fuzzy, but every sign he could see out of them were displaying characters he recognized. "｢There were no other languages. I believe that detail would have been noticed by me.｣"

"｢Then I'd bet my skin it's Hong Kong!｣" Dojo slammed a highly deductive fist into his other hand with a grin that would have knifed Sherlock Holmes and left no evidence. "｢Macau has two official languages, the second being Portuguese; technically, Hong Kong has two languages too, but I think Macau, you're more likely to see Traditional written Chinese, Portuguese, and English together on signs. Hong Kong, you  _might_  have English too, but y'know.｣"

Omi didn't know at all. But there was something he did know.

"｢You are saying that we merely have to search one city for this man?｣"

"｢Woah, woah,  _woah._  I don't think you understand how big Hong Kong is, kid. 'Sides, as your designated pilot, I'm thinking we're hauling ourselves out of the country for a while. Lie low, y'know?｣"

Omi paused before peeling Dojo's finger off of his lips. "｢...But Hong Kong... _is_ out of the country.｣"

"｢Did I say 'country?' I meant 'continent.' We're leaving the continent,｣" Dojo said, hopping towards the atlas and starting to flip through the pages. "｢And by continent, I mean landmass. We're leaving the entire Eurasia landmass. Also, the hemisphere. Going to an entirely different quarter of the Earth to lie low. One, safer. Two, it's summer there, so that's nice.｣"

It made sense. It  _was_ still a bit chilly here, and Omi had neglected to bring a coat. While he was all for training his body to be able to endure extreme temperatures, he was not as eager to continuously do so for an extended period of time. "｢But where are we going?｣"

With a tiny sense of finality, Dojo dropped the book back on the ground with a  _thunk._  The pages had settled on a map of South America, and one of his claws was now threatening to tear a hole in it. "｢Brazil.｣"

Omi squinted at the large country as he tried to call up some sort of image to tie in with the name. The only thing that came to mind was a lot of trees. "｢But we are not merely wasting time by hiding there, are we?｣"

"｢One, I happen to find hiding a  _very_ profitable course of action, the profit being a long life,｣" Dojo said as he pulled out the world map he had marked. Omi opened his mouth. "｢ _Longer,_ _｣_ _"_ Dojo snapped with a glare, and Omi shut his mouth again. "｢Two, I believe you will be happy to hear that we  _did_ hide a certain Shen Gong Wu in Brazil, as well as a few other places in South America. We can pick those up while we're there, as long as we attract  _no_ attention.｣"

"｢As little attention as a giant flying dragon would attract.｣"

Dojo took in a breath to respond and then let it settle in his lungs as his brow furrowed in unwanted realization. "｢...Okay. What if. What. If. Hm. What if, what if...｣" With a snap, he lunged upwards. "｢Got it! What if, yeah, we fly most of the way, then we do a little underwater action and you just walk up on the beach, y'know, like nothing happened, yeah?｣"

Omi winced. "｢I do not think that normally someone in my attire simply 'walks up on the beach.' Especially if they are coming from the water.｣"

"｢Well, at least nobody sees a dragon, and it's the only plan I got, and we can talk about this while getting the  _heck_  outta this side of the world so shut up and hop on.｣"

Omi obeyed at least half of those instructions as Dojo grew to his larger size and swept some snow over the fire. "｢So, this Shen Gong Wu in Brazil, you remember the  _exact_  location of its hiding place? As soon as we arrive, you would  _immediately_  be able to guide us there?｣"

"｢Of course!｣" Dojo exclaimed as he took off, quickly leaving the borders of Russia behind them. "｢I've got a memory like a tiger! A...a tiger with a  _really_  good memory. Relatively speaking, because he's 1500 years old. The tiger, I mean. But also me.｣" Dojo puzzled over his own simile for a while longer, almost careening into a low-hanging cloud. He gave up.

"｢A-anyways, the point is, it'll be a piece of _cake_.｣"

* * *

"｢Okay. I admit, there were  _some_  things I didn't  _quite_ foresee,｣" Dojo said, one flight and a short trek later. The dragon had seemed incredibly sure about his directions and so Omi had blindly followed them and ended up almost blindly walking into a busy intersection. The only thing that prevented him from being splattered against a windshield was a curly-haired woman who had pulled him back by his collar and spent a few minutes shouting at him in a language he didn't understand. He simply bowed when the lecture was over, and watched as she huffed, spun on her heel, and promptly sped across the street without looking both ways.

Now, Omi sat on the curb, watching cars and people go by. Most glanced down at him with a suspiciously furrowed brow, but all of them continued to wherever they had to go.

"｢So...the exact place where you have buried the Rio Reverso is also the exact center of this road.｣" Almost serving to underline his point, the light turned green and a line of cars streamed by Omi on their way to places unknown, much too fast for the narrow lanes they were traveling in.

"｢Well, the road wasn't there before,｣" Dojo whispered, trying his best to impersonate a snake that  _didn't_  talk, no siree. With a sigh, Omi got up and brushed off the seat of his pants before getting a better look at his surroundings.

The road was lined with drab buildings the color of tea stains, all taller than he was used to, but usually less than ten stories. Their flat tops made every one of them look like someone had just simply dropped a bunch of cardboard boxes in a row, albeit cardboard boxes with some nice, lacy windows and that were very excitedly advertising 'MOTOR.' Fighting for attention was a sparse line of trees, all of them with some oddly long leaves, giving the street a very lively look, as though the city had simply grown out of the jungle. It was very clear that the city was winning, considering how each tree seemed to be leaning at some awkward angle or another in order to get any sun that the buildings didn't hog up. They arched over the road precariously, providing plenty of shade but also, Omi suspected, plenty of trouble whenever any branches fell.

Every once in a while, a half-naked man would pass, causing Omi to flit his eyes downwards at the gray and uneven slab known as a sidewalk. There was a square, metal covering from which a foreign odor wafted, the kind of smell that Omi hoped to never get used to, for that meant being used to whatever filth was creating that smell. At this moment, the whole world seemed much too crowded. There was simply too much of everything and too small a space to walk in, and somehow having less space made everything seem even bigger. He was used to his temple, used to empty spaces, and all of a sudden, the empty spaces were being filled up by buildings, by people, by cars and motorcycles and strange devices and sounds and smells. Who could ever live in a place like this?

"｢Let's try to get to a nicer part of town,｣" Dojo mumbled around the corner of his mouth, and Omi started to walk, skittering around everything as wide as he could. Everything called for his attention. Every car that whizzed past dragged his eyes along with it, until a colorful sign saying something like 'BANCO DO BRASIL' drew them upwards, and then they would draw back towards himself again as he was made explicitly aware of the  _people_  around him as they slid by, chattering about this and that.

Eventually, they started to pass storefronts that sold food, helpfully indicated by accompanying pictures and smells, and Omi thought about the last time he ate and thought about how he had absolutely no way to pay for the food and pretended that he was fasting. Dojo mostly looked up and mouthed the names of the street signs they passed. Once in a while, he'd nudge him towards the direction he wanted them to go, and Omi would weave his way around people and sometimes remember to check the lights before crossing streets. He usually didn't.

Eventually, the narrow street opened up to a multi-laned one, with an accompanying boardwalk right across from where he stood. But it wasn't the boardwalk that he was staring at, it was what it was overlooking – open sea. Omi had always felt in tune with the water ever since he learned how to root his chi within the flow of life of the world, but never had pure, empty  _space_  looked so much like home. He probably would have bounded across the passing cars and jumped straight in if Dojo didn't suddenly tug on his ear with all the force of Master Fung's stare.

"｢Ow, ow,  _ow,_ ｣" said Omi, when he meant to say 'what is it?' but his lapse of the tongue was understandable when Dojo seemed to be giving him an impromptu piercing.

"｢It's the – look at – I mean – that thing we're – ｣"

People were starting to stare at the garden snake who was somehow shouting his whispers, and so Omi just looked in the direction that Dojo was wildly gesturing towards in order to get him to quiet down. It turned out that he was gesturing towards a souvenir storefront; a tacky little shop that brought to mind the tacky little facade that the Shaolin Monastery put up for gaping tourists. Gaping tourists like themselves, he supposed, trying to hold Dojo still as he sidled up closer to the glass.

"｢ _There,_ ｣" Dojo mumbled-exclaimed, pointing towards little figurines of a man and a horse, or maybe of a statue of a man and a horse, all arranged in tidy rows like an army marching to war. It would be threatening if it weren't so cute.

Omi could see himself in the reflection of the glass vaguely pursing his lips. "｢I do not recall ever seeing a Shen Gong Wu like this, Dojo.｣"

"｢Look. In. His.  _Hands,_ ｣" Dojo hissed, and Omi leaned in closer. At this size, it was rather small, but the figurine of the statue of the man was definitely holding something that was distinctly shaped like the Rio Reverso – though it was much more golden than Omi remembered.

At this point, Omi was pressing his forehead against the glass. Out of the corner of his eye, he could spot something the approximate shape and size of a leery shopkeeper move towards him, but it didn't seem that important. "｢But why is it so small?｣"

"｢C'mon kid, I know you haven't been outside since  _ever,_  but it's  _obviously_  a scaled-down replica, you see? There must be some sorta nearby famous statue and this guy's selling tiny versions of it.｣"

Omi's brow scrunched against the cool glass, which was steadily fogging up from his breath. "｢Why would anybody want a tiny version of a statue?｣"

"｢I dunno, you used to make tiny little mud statues of yourself all the – w-woah, where're you going?!｣" Dojo scrabbled for purchase on Omi's shoulder, almost swinging right off as Omi suddenly spun on his heel and walked right through the door. At this point, the shopkeeper had propped himself right behind his counter again, pretending that he had always been reading a newspaper. He hadn't quite realized that it was upside-down.

Omi swiped one of the figurines from the storefront and tried to plop it right on the counter but found that he couldn't reach. After watching him hop around a few times, the storekeeper finally took pity and grasped the figurine out of Omi's hands and placed it beside the register for him. Although he rolled up the newspaper, he made no show of ringing anything up, and so Omi was faced with his full attention and nothing else. Instead of staring at his face, which was scraggly in that recklessly young sort of way, Omi opted to stare at his watch. It strained against a beefy arm in the way that a mouse would strain to push a lion. It was colorful and made of cheap, childish plastic, and he could see some sort of smiling, cartoon-y face on it. To be polite, he smiled back.

Omi opened his mouth but then snapped it shut at a passing thought. Finally, he said, "English?" The storekeeper nodded.

"Where'r'er parents?" he asked, his words sliding out and colliding with each other with all the ease of a laconic car crash. It took a few seconds for Omi to parse the molten slag of a sentence

"O-oh, I do not – "

Omi stopped mostly because Dojo had just elbowed him in the ear. It was only partly because the dragon was also mimicking, and here he had to guess, a very unfortunate, exploding tree.

The two humans could only watch in awe, but around the fifth time that Dojo jerked his neck – really his entire body, since he was all neck – towards the wall, Omi finally hit on what he was trying to not say. "Th-the parents are...in the building next to this one?"

The storekeeper didn't take his eyes off of Dojo, even after Omi removed the need for intense, desperate charades. Though his skin was youthfully soft, it was currently being marred by furrows upon furrows. "Tha's someting real perculiar fer'a lizard t'do," he remarked, and Omi held up a hand and caught Dojo's snout right as it pounced for the man's nose. "Y'need t' geddit checked?"

"Y-yes!" Omi took a second to realize what question he was actually answering. "M-maybe?" At this point, Dojo was glaring smog and disease at him, but at least he wasn't  _writhing_  so much. "Um, but I ask you something," he said, pointing with his free hand at the figurine that sat forgotten on the counter.

"Y'wanna buy?"

"No no no." Omi hastily shook a hand and tried to show that his only worldly possessions were his clothes and his lizard friend. "This statue, I want this statue."

The man pursed his lips with a click like a button clasp. "Y'wanna for  _free?_ " It looked like it took the force of the Earth's gravitational pull for him not to spit.

"Nononononononono!" Omi shook harder this time and jabbed a finger towards the figurine which was quite suddenly much closer to the shopkeeper. "I want this  _statue,_  I want the  _real_  statue!"

It took a moment but the look of spit evaporated and was replaced with the sort of look that all adults reserved for precocious children – half bemused, half amused, and all condescension.

"Ahh," he said, and then "Aaaaaah," in case Omi didn't hear the first time. "The  _statue._ " He tapped his nose and winked.

Omi didn't really know what that meant and so only said, "Yes." Dojo was busy covering his face and kneading his brow.

" _Parque Lage,_ " said the shopkeeper, nodding towards a vague direction as he let go of the figurine. "Lotsa trees,  _beeeg_  place. Y'wanna go left," and then he went into a labyrinthine dialogue that sounded as complicated as the path he was laying out. Directions upon directions that had no street names and didn't seem to take into account that a description such as 'the car building' wasn't much of a description at all. Dojo brought his hands down to pull at his eyelids. Was it a car dealership? Some car parts shop? A building that had a literal car crashed into it?! It was forever a mystery because Dojo wasn't supposed to talk and Omi seemed to be afraid to interrupt. When the shopkeeper finally ceased jabbering, the full stop at the end of his sentence took a bow, already expecting applause.

Dojo tightened his grip on Omi's shoulder, his claws digging into skin and trying to transmit through, quite possibly, bio-electrical feedback, ' _ask him questions ask him ask him you can't possibly know what he even means for the love of every soul that was born wriggling into the sun ASK HIM FOR CLEARER DIRECTIONS.'_

Omi said, "Thank you." It took great self-restraint for Dojo to not give him new shoulder piercings.

"｢You don't know where to go,｣" said the dragon as soon as they were outside.

"｢I know where to go,｣" Omi insisted, immediately turning left down a street that had a noticeable lack of anything that could be called a 'car building.'

"｢You don't know where to go,｣" Dojo repeated about an hour later; an hour of meandering down streets that didn't appear to have any discernible names; of scuttling by people who were, frankly, much too merry for Omi's comfort (having lived his life among the most sober of old men); and, of course, an hour of sore feet.

At this point, Omi had to admit that Dojo might have a point. Everything about this new place was disorienting, especially the crowds, especially the sense of vastness, especially the feeling of drowning, especially  _everything,_  and he was starting to wonder if he could find a corner to stand in, away from the world, maybe sink into the ground. Just a little.

The street ahead opened up to what looked like a plaza, and beyond a mostly empty parking lot, Omi could see a barred fence that separated asphalt from concrete. And beyond that fence lay the skeletons of colorful tents. But what Omi noticed most was that the crowds of people around him were content bustling around shopfronts and crossings and away from the lot and the fence. And there were certainly people beyond the fence too, but not as much as there were around him right  _now_  and that's all that mattered, so Omi made a dash towards it, almost jostling Dojo off his perch.

"｢W-woah!｣" Dojo said as he pulled himself upright by Omi's ear. "｢What, you see it or something?｣"

In response, Omi pattered his way through the parking lot and managed to scale the fence in one leap. Now seated on top of the bars, Dojo squinted at the various people taking down booths and poles, and at the sheer lack of trees.

"｢I don't think this is a park, Omi.｣"

"｢I, ah, just thought that I could get a better view from here,｣" said Omi even as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Already, the increased space was settling his mind. He could actually stretch his arms out without hitting something now – not that he stretched his arms out at random very often, but he appreciated the option.

"｢...You'd probably get a better view from a roof.｣" But still, Dojo only crossed his arms and aimed a patient stare up at the sky.

The bustling of the city's people didn't disappear, not by a long shot. But it was distant, and with distance came the ability to ignore. The sounds of inane chatter, of clattering grates and zooming cars dulled in his mind and he could focus on the sounds that comforted him, the sound of birds and of the wind rustling through trees and of the steady biorhythm of the entire planet, a constant pulse that connected everything and everybody.

He'd happy staying up there the entire day, honestly, and he probably would have if it wasn't for a little interruption that pierced through the calming air.

" _Ei, você não pode ficar aqui! Saia_ _já daí!_ "

The thing that made Omi lose balance wasn't just the sudden shout, though it certainly caught his attention. It was what he saw when he looked down that made him slip and land on the concrete ground at a very unfortunate angle that made the entire world ring. The boy who shouted dropped the pole he was holding and jogged up to him, his formerly creased brow now creased in a slightly different way, upwards instead of downwards.

" _Ai, meu deus! Cara, cê tá legal?_ "

Omi's eyes were still unfocused; the colors were all blending together into one mess of watercolor and it certainly wasn't helping that his various joints stung with the feeling of succumbing to gravity (and also with open scrapes), but there was still no mistaking it. The spiky hair, the thick eyebrows...the clothes were different, but that was a moot point.

This was the boy he saw with the Crystal Glasses.

Omi was so busy gaping that he barely realized the boy was still asking him questions in a language he still couldn't understand. "What?" he said, intelligibly, which was quite a miracle.

At this, the boy rolled his eyes and sighed as he tried to pick Omi up by the shoulders to set him back on his feet again, muttering, " _Malditos turistas idiotas._ "

Dojo, who was in the middle of picking himself up from the ground, suddenly hopped into the air in front of the boy's face with a finger ready to jab at his nose. " _Se for pra xingar alguem em outr_ _a_ _língua, pelo menos tenha certeza de que eles não_ _entendam, imbecil_!"

The dragon's eyes widened and he snapped his hands back to his mouth as if trying to shovel the words back in, but it was a little too late. Still, Omi was a little gratified to see his look of dazed shock mirrored in the boy's face.

Somehow, the spiky-haired boy managed to pry his eyes away from Dojo and looked towards Omi instead. " _Aquele lagarto falou,_ " he said with a shaking hand.

And though Omi didn't really know what he said, he could understand pretty easily. "Yes," he said. "He does that a lot."

 


End file.
